


The Yuletide Bright

by courtingstars (FallingSilver)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi pov, Christmas, Christmas Lights, Extended Metaphors, Extra Game Spoilers, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Ice Skating, Implied Kagami Taiga/Kuroko Tetsuya, Implied Midorima Shintarou/Takao Kazunari, Implied Relationships, Japanese Culture, Multi, Near Future, Nijimura PoV, Other: See Story Notes, Platonic Relationships, Silly Rainbow Kids, Some Future Angst, The Fluff Is Out Of Control, kuroko pov, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7605655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingSilver/pseuds/courtingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’ll always be friends. No matter what happens. Won’t we?”</p>
<p>Two years after the fateful Winter Cup that changed them all for good, the Generation of Miracles meet to look at Christmas lights. Some take the opportunity to have a serious discussion. Others would rather ice skate with no regard for their personal safety. Akashi has a prediction for the future, and Kuroko has a wish. Nothing, in other words, has really changed—but some difficult decisions are hovering on the horizon.</p>
<p>(New chapter added! A four part near-future holiday fic about the GoM, originally written for Kurobas Week 2016.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Spectrum of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! I recently revised this story, so that it now takes place in the Generation of Miracles' last year of high school, and fits better with the movie canon. (It also takes place in my Last Miracle future-verse, like the original did, so it's related to a lot of my KnB fics.) I also added a brand-new chapter, with a longer note at the end. I hope everyone had a very happy holiday season, and that you enjoy reading.
> 
> Original Chapter Note: I got the idea for this fic a while ago, but decided to complete it for [Kurobas Week](http://kurobasweek.tumblr.com) on Tumblr! The theme of the first half is for Day Four: Time. (It's also about the GoM's friendship, my favorite bond in the series.) The second half will be posted later in the week, with an epilogue. This takes place a year after my GoM fic [The Bridges Between Us](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4547418/chapters/10351389). (There's also a really vague nod to [The Fast Train to Kyoto](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5035684/chapters/11575831), and various others.)
> 
> **Please note:** This is a friendship fic, but some of the Miracles are said to be in romantic relationships. I kept them vague on purpose. (For the curious: There’s a reference to KagaKuro, hints of MidoTaka, and brief AoMomo speculation. Akashi’s is ambiguous, but those who have read my other fics will probably know what it is.) Enjoy!

_You and I were born from the same light._

_We are very different, but even so, we are part of the same miracle. I can still remember how I almost lost you—and how we won each other back. Tonight, I want to believe that we’ll never lose each other again._

_We who are all connected, by a prismatic string of fate._

* * *

The city of Tokyo was alight with color. In the daytime hours, the December weather had veiled the skyscrapers in leaden hues of gray. But the sun was setting, and now every corner of Japan’s capital was iridescent. From light displays to decorations in the shop windows, signs of the holiday season were everywhere.

On one bustling street, a small park sat crammed between the massive department stores. People crossed through it in a constant stream, in a hurry to get to the next stop on their holiday shopping. No one gave a second glance at the park itself, which contained only a few bare-branched trees, a street lamp, and a circle of benches. It was clearly meant to serve as a meeting spot, and nothing more.

No one gave a second glance to the boy who stood waiting there, either. He was a teenager of average height, and average build. Unremarkable. Or so it seemed.

If anyone had bothered to take a closer look, however, they would have been startled by the sight that greeted them. The boy was uncommonly pale, with hair the color of moonlit snow. His large, heavy-lidded eyes were focused on the book he held. But he glanced up every now and then, as if on the lookout for someone. His white coat took on a faint sheen from the street lamp.

All things considered, he bore a striking resemblance to a ghost. Still, the smile on his mouth and the softness in his eyes made him look oddly cheerful for a specter. Evidently, whatever his reason for haunting this park, he was doing it of his free will.

This boy frequently called himself something else. But Kuroko Tetsuya did not look like a shadow tonight, and no one who saw him would have thought to use the word.

There was a time when Kuroko more closely resembled the shadow to which he compared himself. When an inner darkness clouded his eyes, and cast a gloom over his face. That darkness had fled, over two years ago. Now it was replaced with a subtle light. Traces of it shone in his eyes, like the sun on panes of glass. As if Kuroko was borrowing this light from somewhere—or someone?—mirroring it week after week, until a piece of it now remained there permanently.

Meanwhile, another boy was approaching the park. Unlike Kuroko, plenty of people stared at him, as he took eager strides down the street. He was tall, standing over a head higher than most of his fellow pedestrians. He had a perfectly proportioned silhouette, of the type that belonged to a dedicated athlete.

But it was his face that was causing jaws to drop. Fine-boned and flawless, it was a face that could grace magazine covers. (And often did.) There was something else strange about him, too. His hair was a sunny, pure shade of yellow—and he had golden eyes to match.

So it was no surprise that passersby were gawking, trying to make sense of this unusual boy. For his part, Kise Ryouta didn’t seem overly aware of the stares. But whenever anyone caught his eye, he returned their startled look with a beaming grin. It was so brilliant it stole more than a few breaths away. It left the onlookers smiling too, as though they couldn’t help it.

None of these people would have guessed that a few years ago, those heart-melting smiles had been all but nonexistent.

Kise soon reached the park, and glanced around in every direction. He did it again, more carefully, as though he already knew he would need a second look. All at once, his face brightened even further. He skipped toward the lamppost, and the boy who stood reading beside it. “Kurokocchi!”

Kuroko raised his head, just as Kise threw his long arms around him. He let out a muffled sound, halfway between a grunt and a laugh. “Good evening, Kise-kun. It seems you have as much energy as ever.”

“Of course!” Kise grinned down at him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Kuroko returned his smile, though it was more subdued.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Not very, considering I arrived early,” Kuroko said. His smile suddenly wavered, and he craned his neck. “Kise-kun, have you gotten even taller?”

“Huh?” Kise blinked. “I think so, yeah. Maybe an inch or two?”

“I’m starting to despair of this situation.” Kuroko’s tone was mournful. He studied Kise’s head, as if to measure the distance to the top of it. “The difference between our heights was too much as it was.”

“Aw.” Kise laughed a little. His eyes softened, molten with sympathy. “Kagamicchi got taller too, didn’t he? I noticed the last time he was here.”

“Yes. He did.” Kuroko let out a sigh. “I don’t think I’ve grown at all.”

“Poor Kurokocchi.” Kise reached down to pat him on the head. “Poor, tiny, bite-sized Kurokocchi.”

Kuroko gave him a long, blank stare. Then he slugged Kise soundly on the arm.

“Ow!”

“You deserved that,” said a voice behind them. “Nicely done, Kuroko.”

Midorima Shintarou approached the streetlamp where they stood. The long coat he wore only exaggerated his towering height. In many ways, Midorima hadn’t changed very much. He was still the tallest of the people present. His hair was a similar length to what it had been two summers ago—others would have paid more attention to its odd green hue, but to Kuroko and Kise this was normal—and he wore his usual thick-framed glasses. At first glance, Midorima’s expression seemed unchanged too. A solemn frown.

Yet a closer look showed that his face was more relaxed, less guarded than it had been the previous year. His angular features were once rigid as a statue’s. Now they shifted expressions with more ease, as though some inner warmth softened them. This warmth glowed in his eyes, and made them seem a brighter shade of green than ever.

Kuroko had always thought that Midorima, like all of his former teammates from the Generation of Miracles, had a strange radiance about him. It was invisible most of the time, difficult to describe or explain. But it was there nevertheless, a subtle energy to his presence, that everyone around him seemed to sense. Most people seemed to think it was their imagination.

Kuroko, for his part, believed otherwise.

“Thank you, Midorima-kun,” he said.

“So mean,” Kise said. He cradled his arm, eyeing Midorima. “And since when do you two get along?”

“We don’t.” Midorima scoffed. “But he’s quieter than you, at least. He also has his lack of presence to recommend him.”

“I’m flattered,” Kuroko said, in his usual monotone.

“I seriously can’t tell if you guys are being sarcastic or not,” Kise said.

Midorima ignored him, and inspected his phone. “I take it the three of us are the early arrivals?”

“It would appear so,” Kuroko said.

There was a pause. Kise edged toward Midorima, with his brows quirked up in a mischievous sort of way. “So…?”

Midorima gave him a wary frown. “What do you want?”

“Come on, let’s see it,” Kise said with a nudge. “Where is Midorimacchi getting his all-important luck today?”

Midorima sighed. He reached into his pocket, and produced a gleaming gold object that proved to be a bell. A classic Christmas bell, with a red and green bow. He shook it with an utterly straight face, and it let out a twinkling ring.

Kise looked gleeful. “Oh my god, it’s so cute! Let me.”

He lunged for the bell, but Midorima dodged him. The bell rang again.

“C’mon, Midorimacchi! Don’t be a killjoy.”

“My lucky item should remain in my sole possession as much as possible,” Midorima said sternly. “You know that.”

He held the bell out of Kise’s reach—it was still ringing—while he pressed his other hand to Kise’s face, holding him out of range.

“Lucky items around this time of year always seem to be improbably festive,” Kuroko said. “Didn’t you once spend a whole day searching for a candy cane?”

Midorima gave Kuroko a look that said, _Watch what you say, because you are edging dangerously close to blasphemy._ They all knew they were not to question the sanctity of Oha Asa, not without facing a severe reprimand.

“Tsk tsk. Are you boys playing nice, or do I need to call a babysitter?” said a new voice.

Momoi Satsuki entered the park with a smile. Like nearly every member of the Generation of Miracles, Momoi attracted stares wherever she went. Unlike most of them, the stares were not due to her height, which was altogether average for a Japanese girl. But her petal pink hair, doll-like face, and curvy figure still drew plenty of gazes. This remained true even when that hair was half-hidden under a fuzzy hat, and she was swathed in a thick winter coat.

Momoi had a light of her own, a rosy gleam that lingered in her eyes. It was often easy to miss, however, largely due to the person who accompanied her.

These days, Aomine Daiki attracted more stares than Momoi, and perhaps even as many as Kise. With his gruff expression, he didn’t exactly have the looks of a model. Still, his appearance was striking, from his visibly athletic physique to his piercing blue eyes. Tonight, the plain navy jacket he wore, coupled with his dark hair and skin tone, gave him an almost twilit appearance.

When compared to the others, Aomine’s light, the subtle glow of his presence, was even more noticeable. Perhaps because in recent years, it had been veiled, muted like a cloudy sky at midnight. Now that the gloom had cleared, looking at Aomine was like looking at the sky far away from the city, and realizing that you weren’t looking into empty space. Instead you were gazing at a tapestry of light, at stars threaded into constellations and galaxies, sparkling with infinite brilliance.

What Aomine’s former teammates once said about him remained true. He still shone the brightest of all.

“Kise always needs a babysitter,” he said in a smug voice.

Kise bristled, as he broke free of Midorima’s grip. “No one asked you, Aominecchi!” His voice climbed once more in pitch, as he began to pout. “And why are you guys picking on me _already_?”

Aomine shrugged, as he and Momoi joined the rest of the group.

Kuroko gave Aomine a measured look. “To be fair, Kise-kun isn’t the one who needs to be nagged more or less constantly in order to complete basic tasks.” His even tone sounded serious, but he knew they would all recognize it as teasing.

Aomine raised his brows.

“Hey to you too, Tetsu,” he said. “And at least no one asks me if I need a kid’s menu when I’m out with with my friends. You know, once the waitress finally notices me.”

Kuroko gave a tiny, near-invisible twitch. “That happened in junior high.”

Aomine smirked down at him. “Yeah, and it was hilarious.”

“I just—I have features that are youthful in appearance,” Kuroko said, a bit discomfited.

“Pretty sure you mean you look like you’re four.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Momoi said, with a roll of her eyes. “If you boys can’t get along, I’ll put you in timeout.”

Aomine snorted. “And then what? We get naptime and a snack?”

“What’s this about snacks?” said yet another voice.

“Speaking of overgrown children,” Midorima muttered, in his dry way.

Sure enough, Murasakibara Atsushi was approaching the group. He had looped a plastic bag filled with food over one arm, and he was halfway through eating an umaibo stick. There was never any question why people stared at Murasakibara. At over two meters tall, he had attained the kind of height that went beyond eye-catching. (Though the purple hair that trailed over his scarf was certainly striking in its own right.)

Like his old teammates, Murasakibara had changed too. It was subtle, difficult to explain. Perhaps it was the way he slouched a bit less, how his stride no longer lagged quite as much as before. Or perhaps it was how his eyes looked sharper, more in focus. If Midorima’s expressions had softened over the course of the year, Murasakibara’s had grown firmer.

He spoke in his usual drawling voice, though, after wiping crumbs from his mouth. “We’re gonna eat and stuff, right? We should eat first.”

“You have an entire bag of food.” Midorima already sounded exasperated.

“Yeah, but I’ll run out.”

Kise laughed. “You’re amazing, Murasakibaracchi.”

Murasakibara gave him a sideways look. His eyes glinted, in an unfamiliar way.

“What?” Kise was obviously confused. “It was a compliment.”

“Hmm.” Murasakibara grunted, in a noncommittal tone. “I was just thinking about how I’m gonna crush you, is all. At the Winter Cup.”

Kise’s posture stiffened. Suddenly they were all eyeing each other. The Winter Cup was only a few days away, the last of their high school career. Their teams had played hard-fought matches against each other in the Interhigh, and there were definite scores to settle.

“Sorry, but I have no plans to lose to you,” Kise said, with a rare edge to his voice.

“Yeah, well too bad, ’cause—”

“ _Boys_ ,” Momoi interrupted. “This is against the rules, remember? You all promised. No mentioning the tournament tonight.”

A few of them murmured in agreement. (Mostly out of the side of their mouths.)

“Eh, whatever,” Aomine said, arms crossed. “I say it’s still fair game. The guy who made the rule isn’t even here.”

Momoi glared at him.

“Where is Akashicchi anyway?” Kise glanced around. “Is he late?”

Midorima sighed and adjusted his glasses. “No, not yet. But you know how he is.”

“Some things never change, I suppose,” Kuroko said with a quiet smile.

Suddenly they all fell silent. Almost as though they could sense a change in their surroundings, a slight shift in gravity. Their heads all turned at once. A staircase rose nearby, leading to a brightly illuminated landing.

At the top of the stair stood the last member of the Generation of Miracles, their former captain. Akashi Seijuurou had stood above them in a similar way before, on a fateful day two years ago. This moment felt familiar—and yet at the same time, altogether different.

Akashi still had a self-possessed air, a commanding aura which made him a leader wherever he went. His hair had returned to its usual length, from before that fateful Winter Cup. Each strand was still a shockingly vivid red, that heralding hue of the rainbow. He had grown only a few inches. Yet despite all of this, Akashi seemed to have changed the most.

Once upon a time, Akashi was an unusually private person, even around his friends. His every action was calculated, his face restrained. Much of that old caution had melted away, into an easy warmth of expression he never had before.

As Akashi met their upturned gazes, a smile sparked on his lips. It spread outward, until his crimson eyes caught fire, and his whole face looked impossibly bright.

“Merry Christmas, everyone.” Even his voice seemed to blaze, with audible joy.

Several of them echoed his greeting, as if to mirror its glow. “Merry Christmas.”

Akashi hastened down the steps, feet gliding with eager grace. Kuroko watched him, and warmth bloomed in his chest. Lately, Kuroko felt that Akashi’s light had started to rival even Aomine’s. In that moment, the change was more apparent to him than ever.

And Kuroko knew why. There were two reasons for it, in the end… When they first met, Akashi did not have only one light to his name, but two. After a certain eventful summer, those lights had come into perfect harmony, making a single brilliant one. As for the other reason… Oddly enough, Kuroko could relate to that part.

Akashi had discovered another light. A companion, a person who made him brighter. Both sides of him, as well as his integrated self.

But that was a rather long story.

“I hope I’m not late,” Akashi said, as he joined them all beside the street lamp. “I had no intention of keeping you waiting.”

“No, you’re on time,” Midorima said. “Precisely, as a matter of fact.”

Akashi beamed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“So what was the plan for tonight?” Kise said, shifting on his feet. “Do we have an itinerary? Departure times? Check-ins every five minutes to make sure we’re still following the schedule?”

He said this in a teasing voice, with an eyeroll for emphasis.

“No, nothing of that nature.” Akashi laughed in his refined way. “Was I ever that bad?”

“You weren’t. Midorimacchi was.”

“There is nothing wrong with schedules,” Midorima huffed. “You all chose to name me vice captain. I wasn’t about to neglect my duties.”

“You were exemplary in every respect,” Akashi said, with a pat on Midorima’s arm. “In any case, I thought we could forego a schedule tonight. My plan was to look at some of the light displays, then visit the coffee shop afterward. I understand that Ono-san has a Christmas cake she wishes us to sample.”

“Yup!” Kise said with a bounce. He was good friends with Ono Tomoko, the owner of the coffee shop where they all met periodically. “I stopped by to visit her on the way here. She’s excited to see you guys.”

“Hurray for Tomo-chan,” Murasakibara droned. He had finished his umaibo stick, and was already hunting around in his bag for his next snack.

“She’s really kind, isn’t she?” Momoi said, and Kuroko felt himself nod.

“She is indeed,” Akashi said. He tipped his head toward the adjacent street. “Well then, shall we be on our way?”

There were murmurs of agreement, and they all followed Akashi’s lead.

To his surprise, Kuroko ended up walking near the front of the group. He had so many memories of trailing behind the taller members of the Generation of Miracles, unable to keep pace with their long strides. Tonight, they all seemed content to linger, to point out the decorations and stop to peer into shop windows.

Before long, they reached one of the most decorated parts of the avenue. Tokyo had some of the best light displays in the country—called ‘illuminations’—and this street was a prime example. Strings of lights circled the trees that edged the lane, and glistened in their bare branches. Their pale crystalline hue, somewhere between blue and white, reminded Kuroko of frost.

This thought sent shivers tiptoeing down his arms, though the weather wasn’t nearly cold enough for ice. He rubbed his hands together. They were swathed in a pair of leather gloves, lined in cashmere. The dark leather didn’t really match his pale coat. But these gloves were by far the warmest pair Kuroko owned.

He had received them in the winter of his first year in high school. They had been a loan, originally. In the end, the previous owner insisted that Kuroko keep them.

Kuroko’s gaze wandered to the owner in question. Akashi was walking beside him, with Midorima on his other side. His usually quick pace had slowed to an amble. It probably took him effort to walk like that, Kuroko thought with an inner laugh.

Akashi turned toward Kuroko, almost as though he had sensed his soundless mirth.

“I’m glad you could join us tonight,” he said. There was the bright smile from before, flickering like a line of candles.

“Of course.” Kuroko blinked. He added softly, “I’m glad you invited all of us.”

They both studied the rest of the group, and shared a silent look. Kuroko knew what Akashi was thinking. He was thinking the same thing.

It never failed to amaze Kuroko, when he spent time with his former teammates. After everything that had happened over the past several years, they were still gathering as friends.

It was its own small miracle, every time.

They all walked together beneath the spangled trees. Kuroko couldn’t help but notice how the heads of passersby kept turning toward them, as they navigated the crowded sidewalk. With their colorful hair and vibrant eyes, the Generation of Miracles drew stares from everyone around them. Tonight, they looked like a holiday display of their own. Even brighter than the tiny bulbs that twinkled above their heads.

In many ways, they were still the most spectacular light show Kuroko had ever seen.

They were far from a quiet show, though. Aomine was swatting at Kise, who was complaining in his most theatrical tones about something, while Momoi laughed in her chiming voice at them both. Midorima scolded Murasakibara for eating loudly, while Murasakibara ignored him and kept on chewing, as usual. It was like something out of Kuroko’s memories from junior high. But it was better, too.

Better, because it was the present—and they had all chosen to keep it that way.

Eventually, Kise managed to twist out of Aomine’s grasp. His sunny hair was mussed, his coat slightly askew. He skipped up to the front of the group, with one of those playful golden grins, and slid right in between Akashi and Midorima.

“Hey, thanks a bunch for thinking of this, Akashicchi!” he said. “It’s really great to see the lights, and not have any pressure to get a date or anything.”

Usually, couples went to see the illumination displays. Christmas Eve was a prime date night in Japan, even more so than Valentine’s Day. Kuroko had to admit, he was surprised when he received Akashi’s invitation to look at lights together, a few days before Christmas Eve. Surprised, and delighted.

“You’re welcome,” Akashi said warmly. “It seemed like a pleasant enough idea. Especially since it doesn’t interfere with any holiday plans.”

Kise’s grin shifted sideways, in a manner that reminded Kuroko of a fox.

“Yeah, so about that. What are your all plans for the big night, huh?” He eyed the three of them, Akashi and Midorima and Kuroko, and waggled his well-shaped brows. “With your _lovers_ , I mean.”

He said this in a pretend whisper, barely quieter than his usual voice. Kuroko’s heart skipped a beat, and Akashi gave a small start.

Midorima’s entire body, meanwhile, had gone stiff as a rock. “Kise! Will you keep it down?”

“What?” Kise whined. “I was being subtle. It’s not like I said ‘boyfriends.’”

Midorima glared at him. His voice came out in a strained snap. “ _He is **not** my_ —”

“We deeply appreciate your discretion, Kise,” Akashi interrupted, in a very firm voice. “Please continue to employ it. However, the term ‘lover’ does have a way of sounding rather… _suggestive_.”

Kise scrunched up his nose. “Whaddaya mean? Oh, because none of you guys have gone that far yet?”

Warmth crawled across Kuroko’s face, and Midorima palmed his forehead. His bandaged fingers twitched like he wanted to throttle something. (Presumably the blond model bobbing beside him, like an overcurious kite on a very short string.)

“For crying out loud,” he said. “We are not going to discuss this in the middle of the street.”

“No, we aren’t.” Akashi sighed. “To return to your original question, Kise, I regret to say my plans for that night are confidential.”

Kise looked dismayed by this. “What, how come?”

Akashi smiled, in the mysterious way they all knew so well. “Because it’s meant to be a surprise, and I’m not about to risk any gossip that could spoil it.” He turned to his nearest walking companion. “What about you, Kuroko?”

Kuroko’s eyes widened slightly. Even after so many months, it felt a little odd to discuss his relationship out loud. Sometimes he could hardly believe he was actually dating—and not just another boy, but one who happened to be the light of his life. (More or less literally.)

“Oh, we’re…” His gaze slipped down toward the cobblestones beneath his feet. “We’re going to Disneyland.”

He spoke quietly, but his nearest companions’ expressions proved they had caught his reply. Kise’s whole face melted into a smile. “Awwww.”

“That’s so sweet!” Momoi said behind them. Kuroko looked over his shoulder, a little surprised she had overheard. She was clasping her hands, visibly delighted. Kuroko couldn’t help but give her a shy smile. She was always so supportive.

Beside her, Aomine had the look of a child watching his parents kiss in public. “Ugh, are you serious? Why don’t you two just get married while you’re at it? They do those kind of ceremonies there, don’t they?”

He rolled his eyes, in an exaggerated way. Kuroko raised a brow. He had the sense Aomine was less disgusted by the news than he let on.

“Very funny, Aomine-kun,” was all he said aloud.

Akashi smiled at Kuroko, with clear approval on his face. He kept the conversation going, as he often did, turning to his closest friend. “And you, Midorima? You aren’t spending Christmas alone, I hope.”

He said this rather gently. Kuroko could sense some kind of subtext beneath it. Midorima glanced down at Akashi, then away again. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose. (Generally a sign of discomfort on his part, Kuroko knew.)

“No,” he said at last. “Takao asked to come over. I don’t know what he wants, but he kept nagging until I agreed.” He shot a look at Kise. “And stop smirking!”

“Okay, okay.” Kise held up his hands. “I won’t say a word. I’m a model of innocence.” He flashed Midorima a cover-worthy grin.

“You are no such thing,” Midorima muttered.

“While we’re on the subject, are we to conclude that you don’t have a date, Kise?” Akashi said. “Still no significant other?”

He studied the taller boy intently, likely in an attempt to read his expression. Akashi was an expert at that, almost as much as Kuroko.

Kise shook his head and swung his arms in an airy sort of way as he walked along. “Nope. Free as a bird! I might visit some of my other friends, though. Maybe go bug Kasamatsu-senpai. I’ve hardly seen him this year, what with his classes and all.”

He grinned at the thought, with teeth so white they seemed to twinkle.

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Momoi said. “I think it’s fun to spend Christmas with friends.”

“Right?” Kise said, turning to her. “Being single just means you get to hang out with more people. Are you guys doing anything?”

He nodded to Momoi, and Aomine beside her. Aomine shrugged.

“Not really.” He clasped his hands behind his neck. “Satsuki and I are just gonna hang out and have KFC. Like we do every year.”

_Rather than being single, that makes it sound like they’re already married,_ Kuroko thought, but he kept the observation to himself. As far as he knew, their longtime closeness remained strictly a friendship. He had a growing suspicion it could bloom into something else. But he also knew them both well enough to know there were other possibilities.

Aomine and Momoi had been asked before, if they ever considered being more than friends. They both denied it. Still, Kuroko wondered if that would always be the case.

Momoi nodded, looking cheerful. “I ordered a cake this time, too. A nice one from Budonoki. Usually we go to the convenience store.”

“Eh? I want a Budonoki cake,” Murasakibara said beside her. “Those are good.”

Momoi looked apologetic. “Sorry, Mukkun, but I only ordered one.”

“Boo.” His crumb-speckled lips creased in a pout.

“Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Momoi craned her neck as she talked to Murasakibara. Kuroko knew all too well what that was like. He couldn’t help thinking they made an amusing picture, as the tallest and shortest members of their longtime group.

“Dunno,” Murasakibara said. “Maybe.”

That was all he said, before he resumed eating. Momoi traded looks with everyone else. It was largely a mystery, what Murasakibara did with his free time, or how he felt about things like romantic holidays. He had never expressed interest in a relationship, or dating of any kind.

“Maybe?” Momoi repeated, prodding him.

“Yeah,” he mumbled between bites. “I might hang out with Muro-chin, he was saying something about that. Whatever. I’ll only go if there’s food.” He paused, screwing up his mouth in an odd frown. “He’s so needy.”

More than one person snorted. Kuroko knew from a very reliable source that Himuro was extremely independent. (Whereas Murasakibara needed constant supervision just to show up where he was supposed to be.) Theirs was another friendship that mystified Kuroko. He was surprised that it had persisted, even now that Himuro was at a university in Tokyo. Surprised, and grateful.

He was grateful for all the friends they had found, over the past three years.

This train of thought was floating through his head, when Akashi suddenly paused beside an archway. They all halted along with him. The archway was the entrance to a large park.

“I was thinking we could stop in here for an hour or two,” Akashi said. “It has a new display that I hear is quite impressive. Is that all right?”

There were stray murmurs of approval. Akashi rifled through the leather satchel bag at his side, and produced a handful of tickets.

“It’s not free?” Kise tilted his head. Most illuminations didn’t require admission.

“These are for a special part of the display,” Akashi replied. He noted their curious expressions, and added with a smile, “You’ll see.”

He handed out the tickets, while Midorima began fumbling in his coat pockets. “How much do we owe you?”

“You owe me the irreplaceable pleasure of your company,” Akashi said with mock sternness, offering Midorima a ticket. Midorima sighed, but he took it.

“Are you really sure about this, Akashi-kun?” Kuroko said quietly, as Akashi handed him a ticket.

“Of course.” Akashi’s crimson eyes glittered. It made Kuroko wonder what was so special about this light display. Because Akashi had that look on his face again, the one he got whenever he was looking forward to doing something for his friends.

Kuroko examined the ticket in his hand, but it only had the name of the park and the light display on it—”Holiday Prism” written in English— along with the date.

They all entered the park. Just beyond the entrance, the trees were covered in strings of red lights, that glowed like rubies. The lights snaked onto the ground to form extravagant swirls, weaving through the shrubs and along the walkway. A broad sign shimmered with fiber optics, changing from red to white. They formed the name of the display, and beneath it were the words:

_“Presented by the Akashi Group”_

They all looked at Akashi, who was attempting a neutral expression (and only half succeeding).

“You heard, huh?” Aomine said. “From who, your dad? Or his zillion employees?”

“It’s been well-reviewed,” Akashi said lightly, in a way that made them snort again.

He ushered them over a bridge, which glowed crystal white. They rounded a bend, and Kuroko’s breath caught in his throat. In the center of the park lay a long field of grass. It had been transformed, with strings of blue lights that stretched across it, to form a galaxy of stars that swam through a sea of darkness. They all stopped to look.

“Wow,” Kise breathed.

“It’s a lot like the one at Tokyo Midtown, isn’t it?” Momoi said.

Gradually, more and more bulbs turned on, until the blue light was so bright it was almost blinding. Music was playing, a powerful instrumental with strings, an electric guitar, and synthesizers. Kuroko blinked, dazzled, and a shiver coiled around his spine. Somehow, the overall effect was a bit haunting. He looked to his companions, who were all watching the display. Their faces were awash in blue.

Kuroko didn’t know exactly why, but in that moment, he thought of Teikou.

The memories flooded into his mind. He thought of pale uniforms, and sweat-drenched practices. He thought of scoreboards, with numbers on them that were too far apart. Most of all, he thought of the six people who stood beside him tonight, and their faces, years younger. Of unsmiling mouths, and vacant, ice-cold eyes.

Kuroko’s heart constricted, with the gladdest sort of pain, when he realized all their faces were different now. So different, that he was beginning to forget what those empty expressions had even looked like.

Another group of visitors stood nearby, huddled around an object that glowed in the dark. After a minute or so, they moved on. Kuroko saw the object was a touchscreen, mounted atop a small stand. Akashi waved them over.

“Does anyone want to try it?” he said. No sooner had he finished, than Kise bounded up to the screen. His eyes darted back and forth.

“Hey, they’re colors,” he exclaimed. A row of kanji filled the top of the screen. Each one was a different color, and below it was a bar. “What do they do?”

Without waiting for a response, he tapped the first kanji—“aka” for “red”—and slid his finger along the bar. On the field, red lights sparked like embers. More and more ignited, until they overtook the blue lights, and the whole field blazed crimson. The lights moved in waving designs, like the edges of a flame. The music changed too, as the strings grew higher and more symphonic.

Kuroko’s mouth slipped open. Kise, meanwhile, looked like he had just torn the wrapping off of a present.

“Ooh, ooh,” he chirped, and he immediately tapped the next kanji, “ki” for “yellow.” He moved his finger up the bar. The field twinkled with yellow lights, that shared half the space with the red. Kise laughed as he slid the bar further, and even more of the field turned yellow. The music had changed again. The tune was similar, but the traditional instruments faded, morphing into dance-style beeps that bounced and bubbled their way through the melody.

“Huh, that’s kind of cool,” Murasakibara said, as they all crowded around the touch screen. With his long arm, he reached over Kise’s shoulder and skimmed his finger across one of the bars. Purple lights rippled between the yellow ones, accompanied by low brass instruments and the thudding of drums.

“Hey! I was doing that,” Kise said.

Suddenly rows of green lights shot across the field. The green eclipsed the yellow and purple, as the music changed to a piano arrangement. Kise and Murasakibara looked over at Midorima, who smirked at them both, with his hand still resting on the pad. Everyone around them laughed.

“What is this, a faceoff?” Aomine said. “Last color standing wins? Guess we’re back in grade school.”

“I was merely helping them explore the different settings,” Midorima said in a lofty sort of voice. Several of them snickered again.

“Uh-huh,” Aomine said.

Momoi stepped forward, as she slipped off one of her mittens. “Could I try next?”

“Sure.” Kise blinked, and moved aside for her.

Momoi slid a few of the bars up and down, making different combinations of colors. Blue and yellow, green and red, then adding purple and looping back to blue.

When she reached the sixth bar, she slid it to the very top. The lights on the field turned pink, forming little curved shapes that drifted through the dark. They were like cherry blossom petals, Kuroko realized. The music was softer now, with the lilt of flutes. The display gleamed in Momoi’s eyes, the same rosy hue as her irises.

Kuroko looked to Akashi. He was about to say something, when Aomine’s voice broke through his train of thought.

“So what does that one do?”

Kuroko peeked between the others’ arms. Beneath the colors was another slider, labeled “kuro” for black. Momoi dragged the slider upward. Some of the bulbs on the field went out. Shadows were left between, empty spaces that moved in harmony with the remaining light. Low woodwinds blended in a tune that was hard to hear, as though it were fading into the background. More than one person glanced at Kuroko.

“What about that thing down there?” Murasakibara said. “I can’t read it.”

A large button shimmered at the bottom of the screen, with the English word “PRISM” on it. Momoi tapped the button. Gradually, bulbs of every color kindled in interlocking designs, a spectrum in constant motion. Shadows danced between them. All the different types of music played, one by one, until they united in an ornate, flawless symphony.

The entire field was incandescent. A trove of rainbow-colored jewels, glittering in the night.

The Generation of Miracles stood and watched, in rare silence.

“Beautiful,” Momoi whispered. “Much better than Tokyo Midtown.”

Eventually the music slowed to a stop, and the field went dark. The Generation of Miracles moved aside, so another group could try the screen.

“That was awesome,” Kise said. “Is there more?”

Akashi nodded. “That path will take us to the exclusive part of the display I mentioned.”

He pointed to what appeared to be the entrance to a long tunnel.

“Oh my god,” Kise said.

“Seriously?” Murasakibara droned.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Aomine said, and Kuroko silently shared their disbelief. The tunnel had been constructed from strings of lights, in seven different colors. Each stripe came together to form a tall multicolored arch, that wound its way over a walking path.

The Generation of Miracles was about to walk through a rainbow light tunnel.

Kise threw back his head in laughter. “That’s the coolest. Come on, guys!”

He led the way into the tunnel, and the rest of the group followed. This time, Kuroko found himself at the back. He was surprised to find that Akashi was strolling beside him, since the former Teikou captain usually walked at the front.

Kuroko observed Akashi for a moment in silence. From his pleased expression, to how he watched the others intently.

“Did you help design this display, Akashi-kun?” Kuroko said. With enough suddenness that Akashi gave a start.

Akashi looked at him sideways. He closed his eyes, in a peaceful sort of smile. “You’re astute as ever.”

Kuroko echoed his smile. They both knew that this answered the question.

“I only made a few suggestions,” Akashi added. “A theme involving color was already under consideration. The designers simply wanted a way to make it more interactive.”

“And the music?” Kuroko prodded softly.

Akashi laughed. He gave Kuroko another shining look. “Well, it changes every few nights. Though I did put in a request for the selections this evening.”

“You composed that,” Kuroko said. “For each of us.”

“It was a simple piece,” Akashi said. “Just with different parts.”

Kuroko shook his head, awed. Even if what Akashi said was true, it still amazed him. Sometimes it seemed like Akashi could do absolutely anything.

They walked along in an easy silence. Kuroko admired the lights, and he also kept an eye on the backs of their friends, as they wandered together through the tunnel. Their hair echoed the vibrant stripes above their heads. All different colors—and yet they suited one another as well. As if they were meant to go together, Kuroko thought.

He turned back to Akashi, wondering what he might be thinking. The former captain was gazing upward, at the rainbow arch. His expression had dimmed a little, to Kuroko’s surprise.

“Are you all right, Akashi-kun?”

Akashi lowered his head. And then he said something Kuroko didn’t expect.

“I spoke to Nijimura-san,” he said. “I extended an invitation, for him to join us.”

“You called him?” Kuroko was aware that Akashi had resumed messaging their former captain, some time ago. But as far as he knew, they hadn’t spoken often.

Kuroko never asked, but he sensed there had been some kind of falling out between the two of them, at one time. There was a period when they had stopped contacting each other altogether—not long after Akashi became his other self, in the Miracles’ second year. When Nijimura graduated from Teikou, and left for America.

Akashi gave a slight nod. “I thought he might be visiting Japan for the New Year. But it seems I was mistaken.”

He glanced up again at the brilliant spectrum of lights, their interlocking hues.

“Did he say he might visit some other time?” Kuroko asked. “Is his father all right?”

“I don’t know. He says his father is doing well, but he never mentions specifics. He doesn’t talk much about himself in general. Which is understandable, I suppose.” Akashi said this a bit slowly. As though he did understand, but found it difficult to accept.

Kuroko tried to think what to say. To offer words of reassurance, or comfort. But it was Akashi who spoke first.

“He doesn’t think of himself as one of us,” he said. His voice was quiet, tense. “I don’t believe he ever has.”

The look on his face was mournful now. Kuroko felt a subtle pang in his chest. He understood what Akashi meant. And he knew why it bothered him.

There was something strange from the very beginning, about how the Generation of Miracles met. They all knew it, even though they didn’t discuss it much. They realized it was odd, that they had matching color names. That they all joined the same basketball club in middle school. Their opinions differed widely on what it meant. But there was no denying the curious fact of it, really.

Their first captain, Nijimura Shuuzou, had a strange name too. A name that partly meant “rainbow.” The rest of the Miracles had always accepted his leadership without question. Akashi, the future captain, included.

But Nijimura had always kept a certain distance from the rest of them. Perhaps it was because he was older. He may have felt he needed to be their leader, not their friend. Or maybe it was because by the end of his time in the club, the Generation of Miracles were all considered prodigies, rising stars in Japanese basketball. Nijimura was not considered one of them.

Kuroko doubted that Nijimura resented this. He had gone out of his way several times, even in his final year of junior high when he was no longer captain, to support them all. But it could explain why he didn’t seem to regard himself as a part of their strange little circle.

“I think you might be right,” Kuroko said, as gently as he could. “But maybe you can convince him, to think differently about the situation.”

Akashi’s keen eyes darted in his direction.

“He listens to you, and respects your opinion,” Kuroko added. “I know he thinks highly of you. He always has.”

Akashi’s face softened. “Thank you. And I hope you’re right, about persuading him.”

A brassy burst of laughter sounded nearby. Kise’s, Kuroko knew. Blended with a reluctant chuckle from Aomine. Then Midorima’s voice, making some sort of biting comment, as always. Kuroko smiled at each familiar sound.

The Generation of Miracles had survived their darkest days at Teikou. They had all changed, grown in so many different ways. And they had threatened to grow apart. But in the end, their bonds had grown stronger. Kuroko couldn’t help having faith, that none of those bonds would be lost.

“I hope so as well,” he said, with warmth. “Then we can all be together, like before.”

“Yes.” Akashi sounded thoughtful. Kuroko realized that something else was on his mind. Kuroko was about to ask what it was, when Akashi suddenly averted his gaze.

He looked ahead, toward the end of the tunnel. Kuroko did the same. Music played in the distance, mingling with the distinct sound of laughter.

“What’s at the end of this?” Kuroko asked Akashi.

Akashi’s mouth curved into a smile. “You’ll see. I believe it should prove interesting.”

He quickened his pace, and gestured for Kuroko to follow him. They soon caught up with the others. The seven of them walked together, under the winding stripes of red, yellow, green, cyan, blue, purple, and pink. To the end of the tunnel, and what awaited them there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The second half will be posted this Saturday.


	2. A Colorful Heap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Original Note_ : Dear readers, I'm so sorry this part is a day late! (Turns out it was longer than I thought, whoops.) But I hope you enjoy it just the same! I certainly did writing it.

The Generation of Miracles had reached the end of the rainbow tunnel. An awning spread before them, made of strings of lights that were slowly changing hue. Next to it, people were gliding over what proved to be a rink of ice. Most of them were couples, leading one another by the hand, but a few children were skating as well.

Kuroko stopped and stared. The rink wasn’t large, but the ice shone white in the spotlights, and it looked stunning in the dark. It reminded him a little of pictures of that famous rink in Rockefeller Plaza in New York City.

Kise, meanwhile, had bounded straight up to the railing. “Oh my god, this is great! We can do it too, right? Right?”

He gave Akashi one of those over-the-shoulder, puppyish looks.

“Of course,” Akashi said. “If you’re all interested. The tickets are for admission to the rink, and the rental skates.”

Kise looked delighted by this revelation. Momoi was also smiling.

“Oh, this will be fun,” she said.

But Midorima wore a deepening frown, as he watched the skaters darting around the rink. “I have a distinct feeling this is fated to end poorly.”

“Ugh, Midorimacchi! You’re always such a downer.”

“Seriously, dude, lighten up.” Aomine rolled his eyes. “If I can tolerate some dumb holiday bullshit, so can you.”

Midorima gave him a look. Like he couldn’t believe he was being reproached by Aomine, of all people. “It’s not _that_.”

“Then what, are you just chicken or something,” Murasakibara said.

Midorima’s jaw twitched. Kuroko couldn’t help thinking that once again, he looked like he was trying not to smack them. “It is a matter of the company I would be _keeping_ , and all the dangerous nonsense I know will happen as a _result_.”

“No clue what the fuck you mean,” Aomine said. He was even grinning a little. “We’re model citizens here.”

Akashi stepped forward. “If this is your only concern, Midorima, I’m certain that you needn’t worry. I have no doubt that all of our friends will behave themselves during this activity. Isn’t that right?”

He gave each one of them a carefully directed smile. Kuroko had to laugh, silently, at the way Kise and Murasakibara and Aomine all stiffened.

“Sure, whatever.”

“Fine…”

“Yeah, of course! Pretty please, Midorimacchi.”

But Midorima was looking at Akashi, when his shoulders finally sagged and he mumbled, nearly under his breath, “Oh all right. Might as well, I suppose.”

Kise cheered, and Momoi clapped her hands. Her gaze wandered, until she found Kuroko. She hurried over to him.

“Are you going to do it too, Tetsu-kun?” she said eagerly.

Kuroko nodded, a bit surprised. “Yes. Of course.”

“I’m glad.” She looked even happier than she had all evening, if that were possible. Kuroko had a feeling he understood. The two of them had spoken before, about the friendships they all shared, and how they treasured seeing everyone together like this. About how much they wanted it to continue. The words Kuroko had spoken to Akashi in the tunnel echoed inside his mind.

_“We can all be together.”_

Kuroko held out his hand, and Momoi took it with a friendly smile.

The two of them joined the group, as they headed to the rental area. It was more than strange, how they found skates to fit all of their feet—even Murasakibara’s gigantic ones. But none of them questioned it. Kuroko had a feeling they already knew the most likely explanation as to why. (Which was that a certain former captain of theirs always planned for everything, down to the last detail.)

They were all sitting on benches, switching out their shoes for ice skates. As he tied and retied his laces, Midorima started to mutter again. “This is guaranteed to end in multiple injuries. And a trip to the emergency room.”

“What, are you backing out now?” Aomine scoffed. Somewhere in the background, Murasakibara made the world’s most monotonous chicken squawk.

“Of course not. I already gave my word,” Midorima snapped. “But if anything—the slightest damned thing—happens to either of my hands, every last one of you will pay with your lives.”

He swept a bandaged finger in all their directions.

“Ooh, scary.” Aomine snickered. “Time to think up some creative ways to use these skates.”

He raised one of the hefty boots, wriggled it so the blade at the end flashed.

“This is not a joke, Aomine. The most minute cut, and I will have your head.” Midorima glowered at him. “This goes for you too, Akashi.”

He gave his longtime friend a look, which Kuroko suspected meant, _“You talked me into this, after all.”_

Akashi gave a tranquil nod, as he finished lacing his own skates. “My friend, if anything of the sort were to occur, I would insist that my gruesome execution take place first.”

He rose to his feet, poised as usual, and led the way toward the rink, where a gap in the sideboards stood open. The rest of them followed behind, with varying degrees of coordination. For Kuroko’s part, he was already teetering, even though the padding that covered the ground around the rink was clearly designed for walking in ice skates. The ice gleamed nearby, as white as frosted glass. It was sliced every which way with the threadlike tracks of skate blades.

Well, this would be interesting.

Kuroko wasn’t the only one having trouble. Midorima staggered toward the rink. He gripped the railing, regarding the ice like some sort of nemesis. Kise looked raring to go, but his long legs were clearly wobbling.

“Have either of you ever skated before?” Akashi asked them.

Midorima gave him a narrow look, then mumbled, “Once.”

Kise shook his head. “Nope!”

“What, seriously?” Aomine said. “You’re always doing random crap, Kise. How have you never tried this?”

“I dunno, just haven’t,” Kise said. “I’ll figure it out though! No worries.”

Akashi and Aomine both raised their brows.

“How about you, Murasakibaracchi?” Kise asked the much taller boy. Murasakibara shrugged as he lumbered over to join them.

“I’ve done it before. But I’m not that good. So nobody hold onto me, or I’ll crush you.”

Kuroko couldn’t help a silent laugh. It was funny, somehow, to hear those words spoken more as a warning than a threat.

“Huh. Looks like we could be in some trouble here,” Kise said brightly, like it wouldn’t be any trouble at all. “What about you, Momocchi? Are you gonna need any help?”

Momoi looked at him, and tilted her head with a slight smile. Kuroko knew that look well. They all did. It was the one she tended to give them whenever they were trying to act like gentlemen, and she wanted them to know she appreciated it, _but_ —

Momoi stepped out onto the ice. She glided swiftly across it, with a smooth motion of her legs that hardly looked like movement. She circled around the small rink, weaving easily between the other people around her. The frilled hem of her skirt fluttered over her leggings, as she went faster. Then she looped through the center of the rink, and skated backwards.

They were all staring now. Kise’s jaw hung agape.

“Okay, guess not,” he said. “Jeez. Does Momocchi have a secret life as a figure skater we don’t know about?”

“Nah. She just used to be obsessed with it.” Aomine was the only one who looked unsurprised. “Made me watch all those competitions on TV and shit. Took lessons for a while. She dragged me out to this one rink like a jillion times.”

He muffled a yawn, then stepped onto the ice and glided easily after her.

“Well, it seems we needn’t be concerned about either one of them,” Akashi said.

“Ah, so cool! I wanna do it.” Kise was watching them both intently. Kuroko had a feeling he knew exactly what his former teammate was doing. Sure enough, after a minute or so, Kise scrambled onto the ice. He skated with surprising ease down one side of the rink—Kuroko was already shaking his head—then attempted to turn.

At which point he collided soundly with the railing and fell over.

Kuroko and Midorima both winced, while Akashi kneaded his brow.

“Just please don’t hurt anyone,” he said, though he didn’t bother to raise his voice. It sounded almost like a prayer. “Yourselves included.”

“You do realize we are going to be forcibly ejected from this rink, without a doubt,” Midorima said.

Akashi sighed. “Well, it was a pleasant idea in theory.”

Kise was already back on his feet. This time, he lasted a few seconds longer, before he overcompensated for the turn and landed smack on his backside. A few children nearby giggled. Kuroko chuckled too—but he couldn’t help thinking that it was also unnerving, how Kise was already keeping his balance reasonably well. That ability to copy physical movements would never cease to amaze him.

Meanwhile, Momoi had circled back to the entrance, and came to an effortless stop. A dainty spray of ice arced beneath her blades. “Are the rest of you coming? Do you need any help?”

“I’m good.” Murasakibara went onto the ice. He was chewing on three sticks of strawberry Pocky at once, and still rooting through the box.

“I highly doubt that you are allowed to bring food out there,” Midorima said. Murasakibara just gave him a look, then skated slowly away.

Midorima grimaced. He began to inch his way onto the ice, but didn’t let go of the railing. Akashi turned to Kuroko, as though something had just occurred to him.

“Kuroko, what about you?”

“Well…” Kuroko hesitated. “Is this anything like skiing?”

“Skiing?” Akashi and Momoi both blinked. Midorima stopped to look at him.

“I went on a skiing trip in grade school,” Kuroko explained. “I remember that one of my classmates mentioned it felt somewhat like rollerblades. I wasn’t very good, but by the end of the week, I was able to keep up with everyone else.”

There was a brief silence. Akashi and Momoi exchanged looks.

“Hmm,” Akashi said. “I suppose they’re not entirely dissimilar. Knowing how to keep your balance is paramount.”

He joined Momoi on the ice, turned in a practiced half circle, and faced Kuroko.

“Why don’t you try it?”

“All right. Please excuse me.” Kuroko took a step onto the ice, testing out how it felt. It was certainly slick. Cold air wafted up from its crisscrossed surface.

“Lean forward a little bit, if you can,” Momoi said. “And bend your knees. It’s better to keep your center of gravity in front of you, especially at first.”

Kuroko gave a nod. He took another step, so that both his skates were on the ice. While he was focusing on keeping his balance, he began to glide forward, without intending to. (He remembered that had happened with skiing as well.) His knees knocked together, and he stumbled. But he caught himself, and straightened again.

Now he just had to move forward. Somehow. He attempted to move his feet, like he had seen the others do—and toppled over.

Instantly, Momoi was at his side, and Akashi at the other. They each caught him, holding him up by one arm. Kuroko blinked. He wasn’t used to being watched this closely. It felt strange, in a way he couldn’t entirely explain.

“That actually went rather well, for a first attempt,” Akashi said. Momoi murmured in agreement.

“Can you get your balance again, Tetsu-kun?” she asked.

Kuroko took a moment to reorient himself. “I believe so.”

“Why don’t we try again, then?” Akashi released him, and skated backward a few meters. “Momoi, will you assist him?”

“Of course,” Momoi said. She looked to Kuroko. “I’ll stay right here beside you. You can just grab onto me, if you’re worried you’re about to fall.”

“I wouldn’t want to cause you to fall as well, Momoi-san,” Kuroko said, concerned.

She shook her head, strands of rosy hair falling about her face. “Don’t be silly. It would take more than that to trip me up.”

“If you say so,” Kuroko said, but he inched forward more carefully than ever. Momoi showed him how to move his skates, and how to stop. Akashi stood in front of him, waiting. Kuroko took a breath.

Kuroko moved his feet, in tiny strokes. By the time he neared Akashi, his legs were trembling again. Akashi held out his arms, and Kuroko braced himself against them. He gave Akashi a sheepish look.

“I don’t think I’ve felt this shaky since I debuted in the first string,” he admitted.

Akashi’s eyes widened, and a smile surged across his lips. His breath clouded the air as he laughed.

“I don’t believe I will ever forget that,” he said. “It was quite a moment.”

“I wouldn’t mind forgetting it,” Kuroko said. “But given the eventual outcome, I can’t exactly complain.”

Akashi gave a merry nod. “Nor can I.”

They practiced a few more times, until Kuroko was ready to take a lap around the rink. He skated slowly between Akashi and Momoi, leaning on their offered arms as needed. He felt a little silly, like a child learning to walk. But somehow, he didn’t really mind.

Kise had already passed them twice. He was chasing Aomine, who kept goading him to keep up, and snickering each time he crashed again.

The three of them eventually finished a lap. They approached Midorima. He was still holding tight to the railing, as he staggered along.

Momoi skated up beside him. “Are you really sure you don’t want any help?”

Midorima heaved a sigh. “Thank you, but no. It’s better if I do it this way, as I told you before.”

“Really? That doesn’t look very fun.”

Midorima stared down his long nose at her. “It wouldn’t be fun for either of us, if you tried to help me and I fell. The difference in our sizes simply isn’t compatible in this case.”

“Is that why you also refused my assistance?” Akashi said, one eyebrow raised.

Midorima’s gaze slipped to the side. “I just—I don’t think it’s easy to keep your balance when the people in question are different heights. And… you and I happen to be different heights.”

“That was diplomatic.” Akashi chuckled.

Momoi shook her head. “Jeez, Midorin, you’re overthinking it. Even if you fall down, I’ll be fine. Here, let me show you.”

She swung around in front of him, and started to skate backwards. With a friendly look, she held out both her hands. Midorima hesitated. But in the end, he took her much smaller hands in his. Gently, Momoi began to pull him along with her.

“See? If you’re about to fall, we can just let go. And we’ll stay by the railing.”

“All right,” Midorima said. He sounded reluctant, but he let her guide him down the rink. Kuroko couldn’t help smiling at the unusual picture they made. The beautiful pink-haired girl, leading the stern green-haired boy who towered over her.

They had always been two of the most reliable people Kuroko knew. And there was a certain shared trust between them, probably because of that.

Akashi seemed to be watching them too. He looked to Kuroko. “Well, it seems you’ve been left in my care.”

“Yes. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Akashi held out an arm, to guide him through another turn. “Kuroko, you are, as ever, no trouble at all.”

They skated around the rink, skimming over the spotlit ice. As Kuroko glanced around at all his friends, he found himself wondering what they looked like to everyone else. The Generation of Miracles was famous in basketball, but not to the world at large. Did they still seem so imposing to the people around them? Or did they just look like ordinary teenagers, more or less? Unusual in their overall height and appearance, but otherwise normal?

Perhaps tonight they simply looked like friends, having fun.

The lights in the park twinkled, all around the rink. As Kuroko skated by, they seemed to swirl in a galaxy of color. Nearby, the awning shifted from purple to red, and soft music drifted through the air. The chiming bells and light piano notes reminded Kuroko of falling snowflakes.

They passed beside the rainbow tunnel, and Kuroko remembered something, as he braced against Akashi’s shoulder. “Akashi-kun, was something on your mind before?”

“Hmm?” Akashi looked confused, a rare expression for him.

“When we were talking about Nijimura-san,” Kuroko explained. “I got the feeling that you were thinking about something. I wanted to ask you about it.”

Akashi turned his head, glanced at the tunnel. His eyes were downcast.

“It was nothing, really,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to risk spoiling the mood of the evening by going into it.”

Kuroko frowned. “So there is something.”

“No, not really,” Akashi said again, with emphasis. “I’ve just been letting myself think too much lately. Brooding. You know it’s a bad habit of mine.”

He laughed a little.

“Would you tell me about it, please?” Kuroko tried to sound firm. “I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy. But it troubles me when you keep things to yourself.”

Akashi gazed at him. Kuroko knew they were both thinking of the past, times when Akashi had kept secrets from them all—and times when he had finally told the truth.

“I would really like to listen, even if that’s all I can do,” Kuroko insisted.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Akashi said with a sigh. He paused, to help Kuroko turn again. “I’ve just been thinking about the future.”

Kuroko felt a faint twinge, of something like foreboding. “The future?”

“Yes. I…” Akashi hesitated. Then he started over, something he rarely did.

“This year may have been my last,” he said. “For playing basketball.”

Kuroko stopped in mid-step. His body froze in place, though he kept gliding forward.

“What?” he said. Trying to process this.

“My father has no wish for me to join a team when I’m at university,” Akashi said. “He’s always viewed the sport as a waste, of my valuable time.”

He said this in a stern voice, clearly meant to echo his father’s.

“When I started to lose matches, the situation worsened,” he added, slowly. “I was able to convince him that my leadership in Rakuzan’s club is an important obligation. But he’s deeply opposed to me entering into such an obligation again, now that I’ve come of age. He already feels that it’s long past time for me to focus on my familial duties. On inheriting the company.”

They had slowed almost to a stop now. Kuroko stared at Akashi, as his thoughts spun in circles. A single question was pressing down on his mind, like a cold, paralyzing weight…

_But what about our promise?_

The Generation of Miracles had all agreed a year earlier, after a certain street ball match, that they would keep playing basketball. As long as they could, even after leaving high school. So that they could get as many chances to face each other on the court as possible—and maybe even go on to compete against another player, a certain rival and former teammate of theirs, who had returned to California.

At the time, Akashi had agreed to it too.

Akashi forced a smile, and gently started to pull Kuroko along with him.

“I’m still negotiating,” he added. “It’s turned into quite the war, this time around. Still, I might be able to persuade my father to change his mind, and compete for a few more years at least.”

Kuroko swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Akashi said quietly. “I always knew there would come a point where it would be difficult for me to continue with the sport… I already feel very fortunate, to have had these past six years with all of you.”

He dropped into silence. For a minute, they skated along without saying a word. Kuroko’s thoughts were still racing. Echoing his question from before.

_But what about basketball? What about the others, and about Kagami-kun…?_

He wanted to ask Akashi. But the words crouched in his throat, too timid to inch their way out.

Kuroko had known for a while now that his friends would be taking very different paths once they graduated. But he always assumed that those paths would join together again, eventually. The idea that it might not happen made Kuroko’s chest tighten, and sent an odd ache twisting through him.

Normally, Kuroko would expect that Akashi would be able to persuade his father. That he would find a solution to the problem, like he always did… But the cloud dimming those bright red eyes told Kuroko that this was serious. That even Akashi doubted the outcome.

The upcoming Winter Cup would be their last competition in high school. What if it turned out to be their last chance to compete together at all?

In a strange way, Kuroko felt as though the five star members of the Generation of Miracles were always meant to compete with each other. To spur each other on, to constantly improve. The things they could all do on the court were jaw-dropping. Wondrous. Miracle after miracle.

Without all of them, Kuroko had a feeling those miracles wouldn’t quite be the same.

It certainly wouldn’t be the same, if Akashi couldn’t play basketball anymore. It seemed wrong, when he was so incredibly talented, and enjoyed it so much…

“Are you still planning to play at university, Kuroko?” Akashi said, suddenly.

Kuroko pressed his lips together. It was something he tried not to think about too much. Because he was too aware of the reality of the situation.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I think so, at least. I’ll have to try out for the team, but it’s not an especially competitive one. So I—I should be able to make it.”

He tried to sound confident. But the truth was that he didn’t know if he would be accepted or not, given his tendency to be overlooked… Seirin’s team hadn’t played well enough over the past year to get much attention from recruiters. Even if he made the low-tier team at his university, it was unlikely that they would play many matches.

Still, it would be better than quitting, he reminded himself.

Akashi nodded faintly. “Midorima is going to play as well. But he doesn’t seem certain about how long he’ll continue.”

“He doesn’t?” Kuroko repeated. Midorima was one of the people who had suggested that the six of them should keep playing. It was odd for him, of all people, not to have everything planned out already.

“He would like to keep competing, I believe,” Akashi said. “But he’s still planning to study medicine, to have a more practical career option. And it’s a demanding field. Eventually, he’ll have to choose between the two.”

Kuroko craned his neck, to look back at Midorima. He was still skating along with Momoi, with his usual concentrated frown. Midorima used to talk at Teikou about becoming a doctor. That had been his plan originally, before basketball.

He was so dedicated, Kuroko thought. He had never seen anyone who could shoot a basketball the way Midorima could. It seemed a shame that he might decide to stop competing too.

Kuroko was certainly determined to keep playing, for as long as he could. Even though he couldn’t help knowing, in the back of his mind, that there had always been a limit to his abilities… He wasn’t sure why he had started doubting himself in the first place, when he thought he was past all of that, but…

But Kuroko had told himself it would be fine, no matter what happened. As long as the rest of his friends kept competing. Even if he ended up watching them from the sidelines someday.

Akashi was watching him, with an odd expression. A faint but sympathetic frown. Kuroko drew a quick breath. He tried to think of something to say, something optimistic, that could be a comfort to them both.

“At least we can always play with each other,” he offered, hesitantly. “When we meet in our free time, like we do now. Even if we can’t all play on teams.”

The memories crowded into his mind, of all the times the Generation of Miracles had met to play in parks during their vacations. Bright memories, that he treasured.

“Yes, that would be nice,” Akashi said. From his tone of voice, Kuroko could tell that the idea made him happy too.

“But… I wonder.”

Akashi’s voice was low, suddenly. Too low, for him, and Kuroko’s heart dropped. As though he could already sense what Akashi was about to say.

“There may be a limit, as to how long that can continue.” Akashi’s expression was distant now, almost as though he were talking to himself. “If the others decide to play professionally… I suspect they will do well. Exceptionally so. In which case it’s easy enough to anticipate the outcome.”

He raised his head, and Kuroko followed his gaze. To the far-off sky above them, dotted with near-invisible stars. Lights so far apart from the earth, and from each other, that they could barely be seen.

“I’ve been resenting the distance over the Pacific Ocean for a few years now,” Akashi murmured. “Lately my intuition has been telling me that in the near future, I’ll have cause to loathe it even more.”

He said this with furrowed brows. Kuroko’s heart gave a lurch, like it was trying to crawl its way out of his ribcage. He knew Akashi was referring to how Nijimura was still living in Los Angeles. But he was referring to something else, too.

About how all the most talented basketball players in the world eventually went to that particular country to play. A country that was far, far away from Japan. Kuroko had already learned, in the past few years, just how far the distance was—and just how painful it could be.

“You’re talking about the NBA.” The words bit at his tongue like ice. “You don’t think all of us will make it there. But some of us will. Like Aomine-kun, and—”

Kuroko stopped, suddenly. Akashi was gazing at him, with a focused sort of frown. In that moment, Kuroko saw something glint in those sharp red eyes. An unspoken thought, that somehow Kuroko could read as clearly as words on a page.

_“I’m also talking about you.”_

“Me?” Kuroko mouthed.

His ears rang, almost like he had been struck. Words began to tumble from his lips, in a confused stammer.

“But I’m not… I’m going to school here, and I won’t—”

He stopped himself. He didn’t want to let on, about his doubts that he would be able to play professionally. Somehow, he already sensed Akashi wasn’t referring to that. As if he was implying Kuroko would leave, long before such a thing could happen.

But it didn’t make sense. At all. What other reason would Kuroko have to leave Japan, and live in America in the near future?

And just like that, Kuroko heard someone else’s voice inside his head. Someone else he knew who was impossibly good at basketball. A voice so warm that it frequently made him ache, with how much he missed hearing it in person.

_“Hey, Kuroko? You ever think about coming here soon?”_

Kuroko gaped at Akashi. That couldn’t be it. He had already thought all of this through, and discussed it with his boyfriend. He was going to a university in Japan, to get a teaching degree. He would keep studying English, and go out for basketball too. He would work on his goals on his own for a while, see how everything went—and then decide where to go from there.

When he tried to think realistically about his future, that was the smartest choice. Not to uproot his entire life at the first opportunity just because one person he loved didn’t live in Japan anymore. He had only been in his relationship with Kagami for a year.

He looked around the rink, at their friends who were still skating together. Kise racing beside Aomine. Midorima and Momoi hand in hand, with Murasakibara lumbering along behind.

“But I don’t—I don’t have any plans to leave,” Kuroko said, almost helplessly.

“I know.” Akashi gave him a faint smile. “Not yet, at least.”

Kuroko’s chest gave another pang. He didn’t know what to say to that.

Now Akashi was the one who had stopped skating. Kuroko stopped beside him. They stood in a corner of the rink, facing each other.

Akashi crossed his arms, rubbed them a bit. Kuroko could sense that he was about to say something important. What it was, he couldn’t imagine. He waited, aching.

“I still remember seeing you in the second gym that night, for the first time,” Akashi said slowly. “Practicing with Aomine.”

Immediately Kuroko’s thoughts rewound, to that night that had changed his life. The one he would never be able to forget. The night he thought of giving up on basketball, and Aomine and Akashi both told him not to.

“That moment seems so important, in retrospect,” Akashi said. “Indispensible. If I hadn’t spoken to you then, I doubt I would be who I am today. None of us would. I shudder to think what might have happened instead.”

He winced. A shiver scuttled over Kuroko’s arms. In that moment, he felt as though he could see into Akashi’s thoughts.

Of five very talented, very miserable basketball players. Who had decided to think of one another only as competition, instead of as friends.

Kuroko shook his head. He had never thought of himself as the person who fixed that situation. In reality, it had been far too complicated for anyone to fix alone. His friends had all made their own decisions, about how to change their lives for the better. They met so many people on their new teams who helped them. And a certain someone else had been there too, had appeared at just the right time, to become the new competition they sorely needed…

Still Kuroko knew that Akashi largely credited him, for the outcome of the basketball season that changed all of them so much.

Akashi turned away. Kuroko followed his gaze, to where Aomine was leaning back against the rail, grinning at a toppled Kise.

“I’m certain that Aomine, at least, will make it to the NBA,” Akashi said in his quiet voice. “It seems as though it is what he was born to do.”

Kuroko swallowed, hard. He felt the same way. Aomine was always talking about how he would get to the NBA, no matter what, so he could face off against Kagami. Several professional Japanese teams were already recruiting him.

“In a strange way, I think we all revolved around the two of you,” Akashi mused. “For a time, at least. Our ace, and our shadow.”

His voice made Kuroko’s eyes sting, even though he wasn’t quite sure what Akashi meant. Akashi looked back to Kuroko. Though his eyes were sad, his mouth was firm.

“We are all fortunate and capable people,” he said. “I have confidence we will succeed, at whatever we decide to do. But if I happen to be right about the years to come… Well. You would both be deeply missed.”

He took Kuroko by the shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze. As he studied Kuroko’s face, his eyes dimmed further.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I had no wish to upset you.”

Kuroko hurriedly shook his head.

“No, it’s—it’s all right.” He managed to keep his voice mostly even. “I’m very glad that you told me.”

“Well. Enough of that, then.” Akashi drew a long breath, then let it out again in a cloudy wisp. “I’ve already been told everything will be fine. By three people whom I trust with my entire being. And they all have a better knack for seeing into the future than I do.”

He said this with a hint of dryness. But the smile on his face was a fond one.

Kuroko wanted to ask which people Akashi meant, and what they had told him. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask. He had a feeling, from the familiar expression on Akashi’s face, that one of these people in question had already passed away.

Akashi bent his arm, and held it once more out to Kuroko. His expression had cleared, the lingering worries smoothed away, like frost scraped from a window. “Shall we continue?”

“Yes.” Kuroko tried to sound as calm as he could, as they began skating again. But the truth was, he felt like he was the one frosting over now.

It was like he had been shaken awake, suddenly. He had known their time in high school was nearly at an end. Still, he had convinced himself that the Generation of Miracles would find ways to keep meeting with each other, somehow. That they would continue to talk, to remain friends. They had done it in high school, after all.

But once they graduated, they would all see each other even less. They would be busier than ever, with university classes, or internships, or basketball training. Kuroko already missed them at times. He hated to think of the situation getting worse.

Which was why he had chosen to believe that basketball would bring them together again, sooner or later.

But what if that didn’t happen…? Kuroko’s heart felt sore, at the idea of being separated from any of his friends more permanently. He had told himself that it wouldn’t happen, as long as they all had the same goal. If they made it to the NBA, they wouldn’t all live in the same cities. But they would keep meeting on the court, just like they always had.

So what if they no longer had basketball, to keep them together? Would they still keep meeting, somehow? Or would they gradually drift apart?

And what would he do…?

Kuroko had never seriously considered it. About the possibility that he might move all the way to America on his own—and not because of basketball. That one day, it might actually be the reasonable decision, if he stayed in his current relationship. He supposed he hadn’t thought about it, because he didn’t want to.

He never wanted to have to make a choice like that.

Akashi’s calm voice spoke beside his ear. “Aomine, Kise, will you please be more careful? This is not an especially large rink.”

Kuroko was vaguely aware of Aomine darting past them, and Kise shouting something over his shoulder. “Will do, Akashicchi,” maybe. But Kuroko barely registered them, blurs of color that passed quickly through his line of sight. His mind was still spinning.

What would happen, if they were all far apart someday?

He thought of Akashi and Midorima. They were always so serious, so dedicated to their work. They tended to lose themselves in it, as a matter of fact. Would they both choose the careers they had planned for so long, over basketball? And if they did, would they still make time to see each other, and to see all of them?

And what about Murasakibara? No matter what he decided to do in the future, it was all too easy to imagine him not bothering to meet with them anymore. He seemed more than content to wander off, to do his own thing.

What about Kise? He was always coming and going. He had a career already, one that the rest of them knew nothing about. Would he continue with modeling, and if so, where would that take him? Or would he choose basketball, and try to follow after Aomine? Would that be yet another best friend that Kuroko would only be able to visit in person after a long plane flight?

The worst part was, Kuroko knew they would miss each other, too. Momoi hadn’t decided what she would study at university. But Aomine wasn’t going, so either way she wouldn’t be with him constantly, like she was now. Kuroko knew that would be hard, for them both. They had been inseparable for so long, years before he met either one of them.

He tried to tell himself it would be fine, like Akashi had said.

It would be.

Wouldn’t it?

Someone shouted again, but Kuroko didn’t catch it at all. He and Akashi were passing Momoi and Midorima. Akashi was saying something to the two of them, when he abruptly stiffened. He turned to look behind him, and grabbed Kuroko. Like he was shielding him, from something he knew was coming.

Suddenly, Aomine was there. Speeding directly toward the four of them.

“Shit—”

Aomine scrambled to a stop, his eyes wide. Somehow, by some miracle, he came short of colliding fully with Midorima, who had turned quickly in front of Momoi to protect her. Aomine still bumped into him, of course. But not hard.

At that point, it might have been all right.

It might have, except Midorima lost his balance, and staggered backward with his long limbs into Akashi. But that might have been all right, too. Because Momoi moved to help, and Akashi caught himself. Except at that very same moment, Kise careened into Aomine at full speed, and the chain reaction started again. This time, all six of them went tumbling down.

For a second, Kuroko saw nothing but white. He didn’t know if he’d been knocked that hard, or if it was just the ice, coming closer…

When he opened his eyes again, he was on his back. Beneath a tangled heap of five other people. Kuroko had spent a lot of time with the Generation of Miracles. But he couldn’t say anything quite like this had ever happened before. He could feel them all at once, their warm weight pressing down on him.

Oddly, he didn’t feel too crushed. That was when he noticed that Akashi, who was directly on top of him, was bracing his arms on either side of his body. Holding himself up, pushing back against the weight of the others. Kuroko gave him a grateful smile.

“Are you all right?” Akashi asked, sounding a bit winded. Kuroko nodded.

“You took most of the fall, didn’t you?” he said. But he didn’t really have to ask. Because that was the sort of thing Akashi would do.

Akashi sighed. “I certainly tried.”

“Well, this is a new low,” said Midorima’s voice. “For what remained of our dignity.”

Kise laughed. His voice sounded even farther away. “Oh, we still had some left?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” Akashi sighed again.

“What are you guys all doing?” said a new voice.

Kuroko looked up. Between a pant leg and a coat sleeve, he could glimpse part of Murasakibara’s face. He was peering down at all of them, from his towering height. The only one of them who hadn’t been in the crash.

“Oh honestly, Mukkun. What does it look like we’re doing?”

Murasakibara tilted his head, eyed them speculatively. Kuroko knew what his former teammate was thinking, somehow. He didn’t really know _why_ he was thinking it, but he clearly was. And Kuroko wasn’t the only one who could tell.

“Murasakibara,” Midorima said, with a tone halfway between strict and alarmed. “Don't you dare.”

“Hmm,” was all Murasakibara said.

“Oh god. He’s not gonna—?”

“Oh no. _Don’t_ —”

Limbs wriggled in Kuroko’s peripheral vision. Like some of them were trying to get up, but couldn’t. They were too intertwined with each other.

“Timber,” Murasakibara said, in his droning way.

And he flung himself down onto the pile.

They all grunted, as this last and final weight pressed down on top of them. Even with Akashi bracing against the ice, Kuroko felt the sudden impact. A new heaviness, mostly somewhere around his legs.

They all laid there for a moment. Let out a few more sighs.

“Huh. This is kinda funny.”

“God. We must look like idiots right now.”

“You boys _are_ idiots.”

Kuroko was about to tell Akashi he really was fine, that his former captain could stop taking all the pressure like that. But Akashi was raising his head, as much as he could under the circumstances. He looked distracted.

“Please tell me none of you has broken anything,” he said, in a vaguely despairing tone. “Or lost a hand. I have no wish to be summarily executed by your coaches.”

“Nope, two hands. We’re good.”

“I have both my hands!” Kise chirped. “And my face is totally fine, so my agent won’t kill you either.”

“Kise. You _jackass_.”

“Wha-a-at?” came the usual drawn-out whine.

“This is your fault, you fool,” Midorima’s voice growled, near Kuroko’s head.

“My fault! Aominecchi was the one who crashed first. I just crashed into him!”

“As fascinating as this conversation is,” Akashi cut in, gritting his teeth. His arms were starting to quake. “Would all of you be so good as to remove yourselves? Kuroko is under here.”

“Tetsu’s down there with you?” Aomine swore again. “I thought he escaped.”

“Oh god, we’re crushing him!” There went Kise’s theatrical wail. “He’s gotta be as flat as a pancake by now. We _killed_ him, Aominecchi.”

“You haven’t killed me—”

“All of you. **Silence**.” Akashi used a tone they all recognized at once. A voice they did not disobey, as a rule. Kuroko noticed that his left eye looked a shade lighter, like it sometimes did now and then. A phantom glimmer, of a part of him that had once been separate from himself. “Now you are all going to get up, one by one. And you are going to extract yourselves from one another very carefully.” He was staring at someone’s ice skate, that hung above his head. “No fresh injuries whatsoever. Go.”

The pile above Kuroko began to shift. Akashi loosed a tight breath. His arms shook less and less. Before long, he was helping Kuroko to his feet.

Akashi then began inspecting each of the others, with a darting gaze. His expression had started to relax. “Well, that was an experience.”

“Are we all okay?” Momoi added. She came over to Kuroko. “You’re not hurt, are you, Tetsu-kun? Did you—oh. Oh no! You’re bleeding.”

Akashi whirled around. They all came rushing over to Kuroko, and crowded around him. For Kuroko’s part, he was confused. He couldn’t feel anything hurting. He was fairly certain, given how Akashi shielded him, that he hadn’t been cut or scraped in any way.

Then he finally noticed an all-too familiar feeling, of his nose being wet. He lifted his hand, and blood smeared across his fingers. It wasn’t that much, he thought. He had experienced far worse on many occasions. It certainly didn’t warrant the alarmed expressions on all their faces.

“A nosebleed? He didn’t hit his head, did he?”

“Kuroko, here.” Akashi pressed something soft into his hand. Kuroko looked down and saw it was a handkerchief. He wanted to object, to say he didn’t want to stain it, but Akashi was gesturing firmly to his face. So he put it up to his nose.

“Do his eyes look okay?” Momoi said. She was studying his irises even as she spoke, already in manager mode. She raised a few fingers, moved them from side to side. “He seems like he’s focusing fine. Tetsu-kun, do you feel dizzy or sick at all? Does your head hurt?”

Kuroko shook his head.

“If this sort of thing keeps happening, he’s going to end up with permanent damage,” Midorima was mumbling. “Purely as a consequence of knowing us.”

Both Aomine and Kise looked stricken.

“Sorry, Tetsu—”

Momoi spun around. She started smacking Aomine on the arm, one rapid blow after another. “I cannot believe you! We all told you to be more careful. But you never listen, do you? Never!”

“Ow. Dammit, Satsuki. Ow.”

Akashi leaned closer to Kuroko, rubbed his arm. “You really feel all right? For the moment, at least?”

Kuroko nodded.

“It’s just a nosebleed,” he said, voice muffled through the handkerchief.

“All right. Excuse me.”

Akashi’s eyes narrowed, and he abruptly turned to face Kise.

“We told you the same thing, Kise.” Like Momoi, his voice was strained, agitated. “And you assured me, more than once, that you would follow my instructions. Someone could have been seriously hurt. Especially given that you’ve never done this before.”

The whites of Kise’s eyes showed all the way around. “I’m sorry, Akashicchi, really! I really didn’t mean to!”

“Your intentions are beside the point. And I am not the one to whom you should be apologizing.” Akashi then turned to Murasakibara, and his irises flashed. He began to edge toward him, step by step. “And _you_. Murasakibara, what you did a moment ago was completely unnecessary. An unneeded risk.”

Murasakibara took a few steps back. “I—uh—”

At which point Momoi stopped hitting Aomine, and rounded on him too.

“Really, Mukkun!” she cried. “Akashi-kun is right. You need to _think_ about these things.”

“But, um—”

Murasakibara was steadily backing away now. His eyes flicked from side to side with rare alertness, as both Akashi and Momoi continued to scold him, their voices overlapping each other. He looked like he hadn’t quite decided which one of them was more dangerous. (A fact that was all the more noteworthy, given that they were both a fraction of his size.)

“Here we go again,” Aomine muttered, now that their attention was elsewhere. “Mom and Dad are on a rampage.”

Kise half-suppressed a laugh. “I’m not even sure which one is Mom?” He was looking at Momoi and Midorima, who had also joined in the scolding.

“Maybe all three.” Aomine snorted. He turned back to Kuroko. “Seriously though, Tetsu, sorry about that. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, we’re so sorry!” Kise chimed in, with a rare, genuine frown. “Are you sure you’re not seeing weird or anything?”

Kuroko nodded again.

He wanted to tell them that he was fine, really, and he wasn’t so delicate. He must have had dozens of nosebleeds during their practices at Teikou, after all. And he had survived. Surely they all remembered…

Just like that, _he_ was remembering. All the time they had spent together years ago, in Teikou’s gyms and halls. Changing in the clubroom, running laps outside. Memories that felt somewhat distant already. But Kuroko would never forget them.

Momoi and Akashi were already back at his side again. Gazing at him with so much concern. It made Kuroko think once more, about how strange it felt for him to be watched this closely. How aware of him his friends were. When most people never even noticed if they bumped into Kuroko, and they certainly could never find him afterward, to ask his pardon or see if he was all right.

But his former teammates were different. They could all see him, without too much trouble. Because they knew him, and they knew what to look for. Because they _wanted_ to see him.

The truth was, it had always made Kuroko feel special. Visible, in a way he rarely felt. Some of his teammates at Seirin once asked him if it had ever been hard, to be the phantom sixth man of the Generation of Miracles. To not get as much attention or credit as the others.

But Kuroko had never thought of it that way. He’d sometimes wondered if he belonged among the rest of them. (He didn’t wonder that now, but he used to.) From the start, though, Kuroko had always liked being a part of their unusual group. They were all amazing. He had been honored to be their teammate, their friend. Their shadow.

He wasn’t their shadow anymore. But sometimes he honestly missed it.

They were all around him now. He could feel them, could sense their presence. Their light. He would miss that feeling, if they ever stopped seeing each other. That sense of closeness, and warmth.

He would miss them all so much.

Kuroko’s eyes were watering now, to his dismay. Just like that, they were all asking again. If he was all right, if something was hurting.

Something was. But it wasn’t the sort of thing he ought to admit out loud. It could offend or upset them. Make them feel guilty, maybe. Kuroko didn’t want any of his friends to worry about the future, or about him. Tears budded in the corners of his eyes. One slipped free.

“Please—please excuse me,” he said. He was trying hard not to sniffle, when his nose could still be bleeding. He knew he needed to make some sort of excuse. But he couldn’t think of one that made any sense. “I don’t know. I was just—It’s very nice to be here like this, with all of you, and I—”

The tears dripped down his face.

“Will we always be like this?” he said softly, in spite of himself.

They all stared at him. Akashi and Momoi seemed even more worried than before, if possible. Midorima appeared increasingly concerned, while Murasakibara and Kise looked confused. Aomine had a blank expression that Kuroko knew was a combination of both. “Will we always be what?”

“Friends,” Kuroko managed, weakly. “We’ll always be friends. No matter what happens. Won’t we?”

_Even without basketball…?_

He gave up, and finally let the question drop. Even though it hurt. Even though he wanted to just believe that they would, without having to ask. Because he believed so much in all of them.

They all looked more stunned than ever. Kise immediately bristled.

“What?” he cried. “Of course! We’ll be best friends forever and ever, Kurokocchi.”

He looked like he desperately wanted to lurch forward and fling his arms around Kuroko, or ruffle his hair. But he held back, as though he was afraid of hurting him. In the end, he rubbed him on the shoulder instead.

Momoi joined him, rubbing his shoulder and his back.

“Of course we will,” she said in a soothing voice. Which only made more tears fall down Kuroko’s face, because he could remember her asking him a similar question, years ago. “Tell him, Dai-chan.”

Aomine was hovering beside her. She smacked his shin with the boot of her skate.

He winced. “Why do _I_ have to? This kind of crap goes without saying, doesn’t it?”

Momoi and Kise both glared at him. But Kuroko’s mouth trembled in a smile. He had plenty of experience, after all, with translating Aomine’s way of saying things.

There was a brief, awkward silence. Someone cleared his throat, and Kuroko realized it was Midorima. He straightened his glasses, with his usual solemnity.

“For my part, I don’t know if I find it more of a comfort or a hassle,” he said. “But I think it’s clear at this point that we’re meant to be in each other’s lives.”

Kuroko felt his eyes widen. He hadn’t really expected Midorima to say anything like that. Not out loud, at least.

“Yeah,” Murasakibara said. They all gaped at him, with open mouths. “What? Obviously we’re gonna be friends and whatever. We don’t have to _talk_ about it.”

He sounded annoyed. Across the way, Aomine gave a scowling nod.

“He’s right. This is too much sappy garbage for me.” He scratched the back of his head, looking everywhere but at the rest of them. “Are we done here?”

A few of them made a move like they wanted to strangle him. But then Akashi spoke.

“It appears we are.” His voice was even softer than usual. “Since we’re all in agreement.”

Kuroko raised his head. His bleary eyes met Akashi’s.

“Yes,” he choked out. He used his sleeve to carefully wipe his face, and glanced at each of the others. “Thank you. I’m sorry, for—for asking such an awkward question.”

“Don't be sorry,” Momoi said, in her gentlest tone. Still patting his back.

“No,” Akashi said, with firmness. “Don’t be.”

Kuroko swallowed, hard. Akashi was still looking at him. There was so much meaning in those ember-bright eyes, that he almost couldn’t catch it all.

Kuroko was glad then, very glad, that he had asked such a strange question. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually said out loud. He didn’t like to bother people with his worries. It always felt so selfish. But he felt much better, having heard all of that. And what’s more…

He had the sense that Akashi needed to hear it too.

“Heh. Everyone’s staring.” Kise glanced around. He raised his hand, raked it through his mussed yellow locks. “And my hair’s a mess. Awesome.”

“To be fair, we must make for a unique picture,” Akashi said, in his serene way.

Midorima harrumphed. “‘Unique’ is the most charitable word anyone could possibly use to describe us.” But one of those rare, restrained smiles graced his mouth.

Then they were all laughing, somehow. Looking at each other, letting themselves notice that when they stood together like this, they were an unusual sight indeed. They gradually began straightening their coats. Pointing out every scarf and shirt collar that had been knocked askew, and their nests of bright, flyaway hair.

“So is it time for cake yet?” Murasakibara had already given up on putting his long hair back into any kind of order. He was tying it in a ponytail instead.

“It certainly is,” Akashi said. “Even if it weren’t, we should stop making a nuisance of ourselves and worrying the employees.”

He gave an apologetic nod to a few people in uniform. They were hovering beside the rink, looking undecided as to whether they needed to intervene in some way. The Generation of Miracles slowly began making their way off the ice.

Kuroko was inspecting the soiled handkerchief in his hand, wondering if he would be able to wash and return it. Suddenly, Aomine came up alongside him. He held out his arm, and gave a rough nod. Kuroko took his sleeve, with a murmured thank you, and Aomine guided him toward the exit.

Kuroko noticed then that Aomine skated a bit differently from Momoi or Akashi. Not in a careful, practiced way. Instead he moved his feet freely, loosely. As though no matter how he angled them, he could keep his still balance. Formless skating, Kuroko thought with an amazed smile.

“Hey, Tetsu.” Aomine’s voice was gruff. “What the hell was that about back there?”

Kuroko stared up at him. He was surprised his longtime friend was even asking.

“Was Akashi getting you down or something?” Aomine added, with a knotted brow. “What the fuck. I swear he never shuts up, about all his tortured shit.”

Kuroko frowned.

“That’s not true in the least. And you know it.” He gave Aomine a pointed look. The kind that telegraphed five eventful years of shared history, in a single second. “He has the opposite problem. Also, that’s highly hypocritical coming from you.”

Aomine gave a start. He was silent for a moment, then snorted a little. He gave Kuroko a light punch on the arm.

“Shut up,” he said. But the farthest corner of his mouth had inched into a smile.

Kuroko knew then that Aomine had understood, and he wasn’t offended by the comment. He could tell Kuroko wasn’t angry either. That Kuroko knew that Aomine was just trying to look out for him, in his own way.

The two of them had always been like that. It had been easier for them, years ago, to just say what they were both thinking to each other directly.

But in the end, they never needed to. They communicated more through the pass of a basketball, the bump of a fist. The drone of the buzzer on the court, when everything was wrong with the world—and then, eventually, when it sounded and everything was right again.

The two of them understood one another. They always would.

Because they had been right there, through the moments that had changed each other the most.

Kuroko heard Akashi’s words then, floating through his mind, with all the intricacy and meaning of a song. A song with seven parts.

_“I don’t think I would be who I am today. None of us would.”_

Kuroko closed his eyes for a moment, and let himself lean into Aomine’s shoulder. Feeling the solidity, the presence, of him.

“Did you mean what you said?” he murmured. “That it goes without saying, that we’ll always be friends?”

He looked up, made sure to catch Aomine’s dusk-blue eyes.

“Because I really want to be,” he added. “And I want you to know you can always come to me, if anything’s wrong. Or for any reason at all, for that matter.”

Aomine made a face.

“The fuck?” he said. “Seriously, what brought all this on? You’re starting to scare me, man. How hard did you hit your head back there?”

“I didn’t,” Kuroko protested. “I just—I just wanted you to know.”

_In case things get hard. If you ever need help, or feel alone. Because I don’t know what’s going to happen._ He didn’t say any of this out loud. It was too difficult to explain.

“Yeah, okay.” Aomine rolled his eyes, turned away. Then he said, in a lower voice, “Same goes for you, Tetsu. I owe you anyhow.”

Kuroko raised his brows.

“That’s true,” he said, trying not to sound smug. “You do.”

He finally gave into the ever-present temptation to jab Aomine in the arm. Aomine cringed away. But he chuckled too.

“Can’t just buy you a milkshake and call it square, huh?” he said, rubbing the spot.

“Not this time.”

“Figured.” Aomine looped an arm around him, an old and familiar gesture, as they skated toward the exit. “Your nose okay?”

“Yes. It’s fine.” Kuroko tucked the handkerchief into his pocket, and put an arm around Aomine too. He glided next to his old partner, tracking his movements, anticipating them like always. In a way that only he knew how.

Once upon a time. Teikou’s shadow and light.

_“In a strange way, I think we all revolved around the two of you.”_

Kuroko still didn’t know what Akashi had meant by that, really. But he knew that for him, his bond with Aomine would always be important. Something he treasured.

Irreplaceable, he thought. Yes, that was the word.

As they approached their former teammates, Kuroko’s chest filled with warmth. The feeling slowly spread, all the way down to his toes.

Their years at Teikou were in the past. Kuroko was thankful for that, in many ways, but there were times when he missed it. The longer they all had to go without seeing each other, the more he treasured those days when it was as easy as going to school. But those years, and their meeting, would always be a part of them. All seven of them.

They had gone their separate ways after Teikou, or pretended to. But even at their worst, they kept crossing paths over and over. Circling back around to one another in clumsy, reluctant loops, that had intersected in the strangest of ways.

When the Generation of Miracles first met, it was coincidence. When they played on the same team, it was out of necessity. And then, more and more as the years went by, they had continued to meet by choice.

In the end, something always brought them crashing together again. Leaving them all in a warm, dizzy heap. Like tangled strands of color winding back and back, to remake a rainbow.

And Kuroko couldn’t say he minded it at all.

Now the rest of that rainbow stood waiting, just beside the exit. Kise waved at them wildly, a motion that sent his scarf fluttering back over one shoulder.

“C’mon, guys! Get over here. We’re gonna take a picture.” He already had his phone balanced in his palm.

Aomine groaned, as he stepped off the ice. “Ugh. Do we have to?”

“Yes, you have to! Doesn’t he, Akashicchi?” Kise spun immediately toward their default authority figure.

Akashi smiled, blinking slowly, in a way that reminded Kuroko exactly of a cat. “Yes. He does.”

“Fine, whatever.” Aomine helped Kuroko off the ice, then trudged over to the group with him in tow. After some debate—mostly of Kise with himself—they all took off their skates and moved over to the rainbow-striped tunnel.

The Generation of Miracles stood beneath the multicolored lights, and drew close together. Then closer, and closer, as Kise instructed. He held his phone above their heads, angling and re-angling the screen. He finally took a picture, but then realized to his increasingly loud dismay that Kuroko wasn’t it in. (Kuroko had certainly tried to stay in the frame… He wasn’t sure what had happened.) Finally, Kise’s breath puffed out in a sigh.

“I give up.” He held the phone out. “Murasakibaracchi, could you do it?”

“Fine.” Murasakibara took the phone, in the manner of someone who was all too used to this request. He held it up with his long arm.

“Okay, everybody smile again,” Kise said. “Wait, no, stop, that’s a bad angle. Here, put it like this.”

He mimicked tilting the phone with his hand, while the rest of them groaned. Murasakibara gave him the sort of look that usually came before some comment about wanting to crush things. In the end he just shrugged, and shifted the screen.

“There, perfect.” Kise took back his phone, and admired the shot. He showed it to everyone else.

There they all were. Red-cheeked from the cold, with messy, windswept hair. Smiling, with their heads huddled close together, and twinkling lights reflecting in their eyes. Wrapped in long coats, and patterned scarves, and every possible color.

“Hey, know what?” Kise said suddenly. “We should send this to Nijimura-senpai. I bet he’d like to see it.”

He was looking at Akashi. Their former captain appeared startled, as though he hadn’t expected this suggestion. His expression softened.

“Yes, I believe he would,” he said.

“You have his number, right?” Kise said. “Here, I’ll send it to you.”

Akashi nodded. He took out his phone, and began pressing a few buttons. He glanced up at Kuroko, just before he pressed one more. Kuroko knew they were both thinking of the same thing, of their earlier conversation in the tunnel.

_“Maybe you can convince him someday, to think differently about the situation.”_

The two of them shared another smile. Akashi’s eyes were shining, and Kuroko could see in their beaming red light that he was happy again. Hopeful.

Everything would be fine, Kuroko realized then. It truly would.

One way or another, the Generation of Miracles would always be friends. No matter what happened. They all knew each other. They chose to be there for each other.

And it was their destiny, too.

* * *

_There is magic in us, a multihued string. It winds around us, and through us, and ties us together. It never frays or breaks. Instead it pulls us to each other, time and time again. No matter how much we try and sever the thread._

_We did give it our best effort, once. But we no longer fight our vibrant twist of fate, not in the way that we used to. And sometimes, every once in a while, I get the feeling that this strange and impossible spell of ours remains incomplete._

_For my part, I sincerely hope so. Because that means we won’t have to part for good, that our time together is still unfinished._

_Like a rainbow’s arc, I want to believe it will never end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Original Note_ :Thanks so much for reading! For anyone who's not familiar with Japanese illuminations, I did want to mention that a lot of things about the light display in the fic were inspired by the one at Tokyo Midtown, which you can see photos of [here](http://www.tokyo-midtown.com/jp/xmas/2015/illumination/stlgarden.html), and [this is the ice rink](http://info.japantimes.co.jp/seasons-hints/2015/tokyo-midtown-outdoor-rink/#.V55bYcf_Qa4) they have nearby. In my head, the lights and the rink in my story look different, but that's definitely where I got the idea!
> 
> I'm planning to post the third chapter in a few hours. (And yes... It is about you-know-who.)


	3. Cheesy Rainbow Destiny

The city of Los Angeles glittered with light, even a few hours before dawn. Slowly, lights were switching on inside apartments and houses, as early risers stumbled out of their beds to get ready for school or work. It wasn’t that cold outside, not nearly cold enough for ice or snow, but signs of the holiday season were still everywhere. Strings of lights decorating houses and apartments—most of them were switched off now, the bulbs dark and the white and green wires visible, but a few were on—and store displays and holiday ads in English and Spanish.

And framed by a window, looking out from a bedroom in his family’s apartment, stood a gruff-faced young man with dark hair who didn’t think of himself as having a ‘light,’ whatever that was… And definitely wouldn’t have appreciated some frilly-ass description about whether he had one or not.

Nijimura Shuuzou was staring across the street, at somebody’s idea of a joke. Or a sad attempt at being festive, probably, but it looked more like a joke to him. He didn’t care what his kid sister and brother said, he still thought it was bizarre that people in L.A. actually strung Christmas lights around palm trees.

There was something wrong with these people. Yeah, sure, so they didn’t exactly have an evergreen forest around here—Nijimura got that, he was from Tokyo for chrissake—but you didn’t need to actively _draw attention_ to the fact that your trees were the wrong fucking trees, did you? Have some goddamned sense of place.

Whatever. Sad, delusional bastards.

So he was staring at these strings of light on a palm tree, trying to figure out if all those intertwining colors were some weak-ass attempt at artistic expression, or just the decorator giving up and flinging shit everywhere. (Because the colors sure as hell weren’t in any sort of proper _order_.) At which point, his phone buzzed.

He opened it, and looked at the message. No caption. No words at all, except the sender’s name. (Kind of hilarious, actually, given whose name it was… Was Mr. Writes A Goddamn Essay For Everything having some kind of stoic episode?)

No, it was just a photo. Of seven teenagers, all looking like a multicolored mess. Because god knows what they had been doing, probably some sort of cheesy antics that Nijimura didn’t want to know about. Except he kind of did.

Yeah, they were all there. Six bizarrely bright colors, and a seventh that was harder to see—but no, he was there too, with that feathery hair of his completely out of control. Nijimura looked at all their flushed faces and shining eyes, and it brought back memories like it always did, but it was also kind of weird. Because those faces were changing too, they looked a lot more like adults now and had that much time really gone by and for fuck’s sake, _why in the hell did he sound like a fucking grandma_.

Nijimura tried to convince himself that this wasn’t heartwarming, his heart absolutely was not warmed by this, and he wasn’t aching figuratively or literally to see them again.

He let out a breath, a long one. God, he was in deep.

Way, way too deep. Subterranean, at this point.

Nijimura had never really expected to make any close friends back at Teikou. He always thought of himself as a loner. It was just easier that way. If you didn’t have friends, you couldn’t get tied down, or in over your head. He already had his hands full trying to make it up to his family, for what a goddamned mess he was in grade school.

Then came the weirdest day of his life. Nijimura had just earned his captaincy—in his second year too, he was pretty psyched—and out of nowhere, four impossible first-years showed up. Promoted instantly to the first string. When no one had ever been before, including him. And they all had the weirdest fucking hair.

Weird hair, and eyes, and names to match. Color names.

Like his, sort of.

God, how Nijimura had fought it at first. He had fought _hard_. Told himself these first-year freakshows had nothing to do with him. They were just lucky, born with an excess of talent they didn’t deserve. And they would probably be entitled brats about it, too.

But hey, it wasn’t his business. It was whatever, really. He was their captain. Most definitely not their friend. He only cared about how they played basketball.

Then, before Nijimura knew what was happening, all of that flew out the window. Because these colorful weirdoes seemed to look up to him, to his confusion and surprise. Respected him, listened to him. More than they listened to most people, in fact. And then…

Well, then he actually started to care. For some unknown, inexplicable reason. About all of them, including the ones who showed up later. (Yeah. That part was bizarre too.) To worry about them, in a way he didn’t worry about anyone. It didn’t make sense. Nijimura wasn’t the nurturing type, at all. Just ask his siblings.

But somehow, when he was at Teikou, he had watched and worried over those rainbow-haired misfits like he just couldn’t _help_ it.

He wasn’t sure he had done the greatest job, as their captain. He had been pretty harsh with them. He definitely underestimated Kuroko, the odd man out of the group. Hadn’t fully understood his value, as a player or a person. (In hindsight, it sounded like the joke was on him with that one. As usual.)

But Nijimura didn’t really regret how he had handled things when he was captain. No, all the regret came afterward.

He had to step down early. But that was all right, at first. Akashi was a capable leader, absolutely zero surprise there. And the Miracles were better than ever, to the point that it was freakish. (You know, more than usual.) Yeah, it sucked for Nijimura to spend so much time on the bench in his third year, when Aomine’s talents as a power forward spontaneously combusted.

But the weird thing was, Nijimura wasn’t pissed about it. He should have been, right? He should have been beyond pissed off, over every single thing that happened that year. None of it had gone his way.

Except… He liked Aomine. He liked all of those goofy kids, with their bizarre hair and their basketball addiction and their drama. (Because yeah, they were dramatic as fuck, even before everything went to hell.) Not to mention their _painfully obvious need_ to be around each other.

Nijimura didn’t really know why it was like that, with them. It just was.

Not to mention why he even noticed, or gave a damn.

But then he left the club, and made a lot of mistakes. Screwed the whole thing up, really. Heard some rumors, half-assed a confrontation with Akashi. Never exactly found out what was going on with Aomine. (Not until much later, when he heard the whole ugly truth.) And then… Well, then he left the country, and just kept on doing it. Not checking up with any of them, staying out of touch. Wondering if everything was all right… But in the end, not doing a goddamn thing about it.

Nijimura had told himself, over and over again, that they would all be fine. He was busy with his family, and they would do their best. He had reminded himself that he was no savior anyway. If something was wrong, he couldn’t actually _help_.

He knew now that he would always regret that.

But over the past few years, Nijimura had met a couple people. Two guys a lot like him, who had some regrets of their own. For one of them, it was about the teammates he had left behind in Japan, when he had to go get surgery and physical therapy in California for a busted knee. For the other, it was about the honorary little brother he antagonized for years.

As he got to know them, Nijimura kept hearing them say things he understood. That they wished they had been better, somehow. That these people in their lives _deserved_ better.

But in the end, all they could do was try harder to be there for them, from now on.

Hadn’t Nijimura said it himself once? About not looking back, moving forward instead?

Then there was the weirdest part… Which was that these two guys just so happened to have met all those rainbow-haired oddballs in the photo. In fact, they had played basketball with them, and against them. Not because Nijimura had introduced them all to each other or something. It had just happened. ‘Coincidentally.’

Ha, ha, ha.

So you know, he could take a hint. Destiny didn’t have to smack Nijimura in the face _three_ times with a rainbow clue-by-four, for him to figure out what it was trying to say. (Or shout.)

Not that he especially wanted to believe in destiny. Or whatever the hell this was. But it was getting kind of hard not to.

He had tried to stick to his old plan, at first. He finished a year of college there in California. Stuck by his family, kept an eye on his dad… Until the old man all but ordered him to change his mind. Well, more like guilt-tripped him, really.

“You can’t keep putting your life on hold for me, Shuuzou,” he insisted. “We’ll be fine here. You need to do what’s right for you.”

Nijimura wandered over to his desk. An oversized envelope lay there, bulging with papers. Ones with titles in kanji like “Orientation Calendar” and “Dormitory Assignment” and “Scholarship Resources.” On the paper about his dorm roommate was a name he knew well. A certain Himuro Tatsuya. And underneath all of this was a letter, which had been ripped months ago from an envelope of its own.

It was a letter of acceptance, for transferring to the most famous sports science university in Tokyo.

Nijimura picked up the letter. Just a few more months, and he was back in Tokyo. He looked back at his phone, at the picture that still glowed on the screen.

The next thing he knew, he was smiling all over again. God, he was hopeless.

“Sure, why not,” he muttered. “We’ll do it right, this time.”

It was ridiculous. And bizarre, obviously. The whole thing was weird, had always been weird. And Nijimura was absolutely sure it would continue to be one hundred percent fucking weird.

But hey, he thought. What the hell.

Why not accept your completely bizarre, cheesy as fuck, impossible rainbow destiny once in a while?

Nijimura didn’t know why it felt like somewhere down the line, that destiny might turn out to be a whole lot harder—and better—than he could imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Original Note_ :Thank you so much for reading! I've been wanting to write this story for months, so I'm glad I was finally able to finish it. As I mentioned, it ties into a lot of other fics I've written. There was also a lot of foreshadowing for a Generation of Miracles future fic I'm planning, that will be called The Last Miracle. For a list of fics I've written so far that take also place in that timeline, you can visit [ my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/miracleverse). (Most of my Kuroko no Basuke fics tie into this timeline in some way or other!) Thank you again! I really hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> ETA 12/31/17: I've added one more chapter to this fic! It still takes place in my Last Miracle future-verse, which I'm hoping to write about someday soon.


	4. Plenty of Time

The sky over Tokyo was clouded, a colorless midwinter morning. The holiday festivities had all come and gone. In their place, January had arrived in earnest, bringing with it the promise of monotony: weeks of cold, dreary weather, and the renewed grind of daily schedules.

In a particular city park, workers had just begun the process of dismantling an elaborate illuminations display. They were taking down strings of lights that surrounded the skating rink, and removing sections of the rink itself.

Nearby, a young man stood observing the undertaking. His coat flapped in the frosty breeze—and so did his hair, a curiously bright shade of red. It seemed all the more impossible there, during the bleakest season of the year.

Akashi Seijuurou gazed at the park, at the many displays that were still left. The once-brilliant lights were now just thorny tangles of string, and even the designs on the sides of the rink looked duller. It was strange to recall how colorful the place had been, only a few weeks before. Colorful, and bright.

In spite of himself, Akashi had started to wonder if all colors were like that. If they were meant to fade, eventually. Even the most vibrant ones.

He shut his eyes against the sharpening wind. Graduation was mere months away. The Winter Cup had come and gone—and with it, Akashi’s final basketball match in high school. Each moment of that game seemed to shimmer in his memory, as though he viewed it through a golden, effervescent lens. One that was only destined to blur with time.

Akashi kept reminding himself that the game wasn’t his last. In the end, his father had finally agreed to allow him some limited time to himself while he finished his education, so long as it didn’t interfere with his training to inherit the company. Yet Akashi still recalled the look his father gave him when he made the concession, and the carefully honed words that had accompanied it.

_“There will come a point, Seijuurou, when you must make a choice. Between your duty to your family, and this idle diversion of yours. I hope you are prepared.”_

He winced, as the wind sang in his ears. Akashi didn’t know when he started to face the question of his future more honestly. But it seemed he would soon be forced to make an impossible decision. To keep playing the sport he loved, the thing in his life that brought him the most joy, no matter what it cost… Or to continue along the path he was born to take, the cage of success and achievement that had been waiting for him, ever since he was born the sole heir to his family’s empire.

The more Akashi considered what was at stake, the more he feared that there might not be much of a choice in the matter at all.

Still, he had certainly enjoyed believing otherwise, for a time.

Another memory danced through his mind then. Each image glowed in a spectrum of light—and familiar voices echoed in his ears, carrying their own warmth. Saying words that Akashi had so desperately needed to hear, without realizing it…

_“We’ll always be friends. No matter what happens. Won’t we?”_

_“Of course we will.”_

_“We’ll be best friends forever and ever.”_

_“This kind of crap goes without saying, doesn’t it?”_

_“I think it’s clear at this point that we’re meant to be in each other’s lives.”_

_“Obviously we’re gonna be friends and whatever.”_

Akashi peered down at the half-dismantled rink. It would be all right, he told himself. The others would continue with basketball, even if he couldn’t.

He was trying to forget the shadow that had crept over Kuroko’s face, when they had discussed playing basketball at university. To ignore the nagging feeling that his friend’s doubts might be well founded—and certain things the others had said, over the past few months, that made Akashi wonder how long the rest of them would keep playing. Most of all, he tried to ignore his instincts, that this would all lead somewhere unfortunate.

If they had decided to remain friends regardless, Akashi reasoned, then it didn’t truly matter.

In any case, nothing depended on _him_. It never had, not even in their darkest days at Teikou. He didn’t know why he kept thinking about that period lately. Why when he saw Kuroko and Aomine skate side by side on the rink, he felt like he was looking into the past, somehow. At some kind of warning. As though all of the things they had once so carelessly tossed aside could be lost again…

But they were all different people now. They’d grown, learned from their mistakes. And they had new people in their lives, people who made them better. Even if many of those people were now very busy, or far away.

Akashi tried to listen to one of the people he had come to cherish the most, in this moment. To that warm, quiet voice that had assured him more than once…

_“It’s going to be okay, Sei. Really. You’ll see.”_

Akashi shut his eyes again, and rubbed his forehead. His chest felt strangely heavy. Despite his best efforts, his train of thought continued to darken, until the memories from before seemed almost dim…

He didn’t hear the footsteps. It was more like he felt them, a vague sensation of someone getting closer. Akashi turned his head.

A dark-haired man stood on the landing above him. His jacket was zipped halfway, in spite of the cold, showing the athletic warm-up beneath. He was holding a basketball—and for an instant, Akashi was convinced he had traveled back in time.

Because this person had stepped straight out of his memories.

Akashi stood frozen, as the dark-haired man approached.

“Hey, kid.” The voice was gruff. Exactly the same. “You look lost.”

Akashi’s chest gave a pang, one he hardly felt.

“Nijimura-san.” He said it evenly. Calmly, almost. As though three years hadn’t passed, since he had been able to say that name in person.

Nijimura gave a wry smile, as he came closer. He fiddled with the basketball in his hands, shifted it from palm to palm.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” He raised a sharp brow, as he stopped beside Akashi. “Or are you just that cocky about exams? I mean, I get it. You’re a sure thing.”

The wintry air blew in gusts between them. For his part, Akashi was speechless. Nijimura was looking him up and down.

“Jesus, you’ve gotten tall,” he muttered. “Aren’t you supposed to be thirteen or whatever.”

Somehow, Akashi could no longer resist a laugh.

“Why do you sound like someone’s aging aunt?” He muffled the noise behind his hand. “It isn’t as though I’ve caught up to you.”

He smiled up at his former captain, taking in each familiar feature. Nijimura was still taller than him, by several inches. Akashi shook his head, as the disbelief rose over him in a fresh wave.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he managed, finally.

Nijimura’s clear gray eyes flashed. He raised the basketball in his hand. “Turns out practice starts early at Nittaidai.”

Akashi could feel himself actually gaping, as the full meaning of each word sank in.

“You mean you’re—?” He couldn’t quite finish. As though he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. “You’re going to be—?”

His breath hitched again, at the sheer impossibility of it. Nijimura gazed at him, with an unreadable expression.

“Yeah.” He tossed the basketball once, still eyeing Akashi. “So what about you? When does your team start getting their shit together? You’re at Keiou, right?”

Akashi swallowed, as his gaze flickered down to his feet. “I—I’m not certain. I only received permission to keep playing recently.”

“Old man’s been riding your ass, huh.” Nijimura’s voice was dry, in a way that made Akashi look up again. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

A silent moment of understanding passed between them. Nijimura held out the basketball to Akashi. He was smiling now—one of his rare full smiles, more than just a crook at the corner of his lips.

“But it’s not like you’d leave me hanging. Right?” The confidence in Nijimura’s voice sent a sudden wave of emotion through Akashi. “I’ve been looking forward to facing you on the court.”

Akashi was speechless again, at the future those words promised. A future he’d never anticipated, not even in his fondest wishes. He looked down at the ball, its familiar orange roughness and the curving contours of the black lines. He blinked, his eyes suddenly stinging in the wind.

Gently, he took the basketball in both hands.

“Of course not,” he said, smiling up at Nijimura. The ball was a familiar weight in his hands—familiar, and welcome.

No, he wouldn’t need to give up basketball just yet.

The pause between them lingered. Nijimura’s eyes were wandering—toward the park, then back toward Akashi. His dark brows knotted.

“Listen,” he said suddenly, and the gravity in his voice took Akashi by surprise. “I’m sorry. For being such a shit friend.”

Akashi blinked. Nijimura was gazing at him more steadily now.

“I should have been around more,” he added. “Checked in and all.”

Akashi felt another misplaced pang. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “I never thought of you as having any obligation toward me, senpai.”

“Yeah, well. Not sure I have much choice, at this point.” Nijimura sighed roughly. The corner of his mouth crooked upward again, in that way Akashi knew so well. “But thanks, for trying to let me off the hook.”

Akashi’s first impulse was to ask what Nijimura meant by that. But in the back of his mind, he dimly sensed the meaning behind his former captain’s words. Because the truth was, Akashi often felt much the same way.

Tied, by fate and by choice, to the bonds he had treasured for almost six years now.

_“He doesn’t think of himself as one of us.”_

Akashi’s mouth melted into a smile. Perhaps he had been wrong, after all.

Nijimura shifted on his feet.

“Guess I’m too late, huh?” He nodded toward the park. “For that dorktacular light display I kept hearing about.”

Akashi’s smile widened.

“You’re not too late for anything, Nijimura-san,” he said, in his most reassuring tone. “There’s still plenty of time.”

Nijimura looked at him for a long moment. The stormy hue of his eyes had lightened to silver—as though some unspoken worry had cleared away, like an errant cloud. The look was rapidly eclipsed by a perplexed frown, as he glanced back toward the park. The workers were already starting to take down another display.

Akashi chuckled, as a rekindled feeling of warmth glowed in his chest. He gestured for his former captain to follow him.

He entered the park with Nijimura in tow, and spoke to the workers. They were bewildered by Akashi’s request, but followed it to the letter. (They knew the son of the company chairman when they saw him, for various reasons.) Which was how it happened that most of the light displays remained assembled that day. The bulbs were all switched on, there in the middle of the graying afternoon.

And a young man with blazing red hair walked side by side with his former captain, showing him the rainbow of lights.

The rainbow that had waited for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! It’s been a really long time. There’s too much that I want to say, and I’m not sure where to start… I guess the short version is that over the past year, I’ve been in a rough place, and it affected my ability to write. So I just wanted to say to any readers who might have been waiting for more fics from me, I’m really sorry. (Also, I can’t thank you enough for the kudos and comments while I was gone… The fact that I was still receiving such kind feedback on my work is a huge part of what encouraged me to keep trying, even when I was struggling to write more than a few sentences at a time. You are all much too kind, and it amazes me.)
> 
> I was surprised when I got the inspiration to revisit this story during the holidays, and even more surprised when I finished it… I tweaked the main chapters to better fit with the canon from the Last Game movie (I’d love to write more about that soon), and I added the new epilogue that means a lot to me personally, here at the end of 2017. (You can still read the originals if you want; I archived them [over](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/148083800297/a-spectrum-of-light-fic-for-kurobas-week-day) [here](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/148266565242/a-colorful-heap-fic-for-kurobas-week-day-seven) on Tumblr.) I’ve also been attempting to work on other fics I want to write, including a short one about how the Miracles all spent Christmas Eve during this story, for anyone who might be intrigued by their conversation about that in this first chapter. (It will be fluffy. _So fluffy_.) Hopefully I'll be able to post some updates about those things on Tumblr soon.
> 
> Anyway, I sincerely hope you amazing KnB fans out there enjoyed this fic, as much as I enjoyed revisiting all the happy feelings it brought me when I first wrote it. And I wish you all a peaceful new year.


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